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AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE   FOX 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF 
THE  FOX 

A  Romance 


BY 

BARBARA 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  GARDEN  OF  A  COMMUTER'S  WIFE,'* 

"PEOPLE  OF  THE  WHIRLPOOL,"  AND 

"THE  WOMAN  ERRANT" 

r 


NEW  YORK 

HURST    &    CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1905, 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  July,  1905. 
Reprinted  August,  September,  December,  1905 ; 
March,  X912, 


Noriijootr  Ifimt 

J.  S.  Ciuhing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co, 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


Cbis  Book  19  for  the  Brave 


PRATE  NOT  TO  ME  OF  WEAKLINGS,  WHO 

LAMENT  THIS  LIFE  AND   NOUGHT  ACHIEVE, 
1  HYMN  THE  VAST  AND   VALIANT  CREW 

OF  THOSE  WHO   HAVE   SCANT  TIME  TO  GRIEVE, 
FIRM   SET  THEIR   FORTUNES  TO   RETRIEVE, 

THEY   SING   FOR   LUCK  A  LUSTY   STAVE, 
THE  world's   stanch  WORKERS,   BY  YOUR  LEAVE 

THIS  IS  THE  BALLADE  OF  THE  BRAVE ! 

—  RICHARD  BURTOMo 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arcliive 

in  2007  witli  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcli  ive.org/details/atsignoffoxromanOOwrigiala 


CONTENTS 


I. 

The  River  Kingdom 

I 

II. 

A  Belated  First  Cause  . 

■      13 

III. 

The  Decision  of  Miss  Keith 

.        25 

IV. 

Interlude 

.      37 

V. 

A  Picture 

.      49 

VI. 

The  Lawtons    . 

64 

VII. 

The  Day  After 

84 

VIII. 

Transition 

lOI 

IX. 

The  Return 

125 

X. 

Tatters  transfers  Himself 

144 

XI. 

Bread        .... 

170 

XII. 

Revelation       . 

195 

XIII. 

At  the  Sign  of  the  Fox 

219 

XIV. 

The  Unexpected  Happens 

243 

XV. 

A  Masque  of  Spring 

263 

XVI. 

The  Way  the  Wind  Blew 

282 

XVII. 

Locks  and  Keys 

302 

XVIII. 

The  Return  of  Memory 

324 

XIX. 

Setters  of  Snares  . 

342 

XX. 

Fire  of  Leaves 

362 

vii 


THE  PEOPLE 


Brooke  Lawton    ,    . 

Adam  LAvrroN  .    .    . 

Pamela  Lawton  .  . 
Adam  the  Cub  .  .  . 
Keith  West  .... 

Lucy  Dean  .... 
Mrs.  Enoch  Fenton  . 
Silent  Stead  .  .  . 
Marte  Lorenz  .  .  . 
Tom  Brownell  .    .    . 

Henry  Maarten  .  . 
Dr.  Richard  Russell 

The  Pieman  .... 
Tatters     


A  Young  Woman  of  To-day,  who  sees  Things 
as  they  might  be. 

Her  Father,  a  Country-bred  New  Yorker  of 
Affairs. 

Her  Mother,  a  Brooke  of  Virginia.  ' 

Her  Brother,  at  the  Difficult  Age  of  Sixteen. 

Adam  Lawton's  Maternal  Cousin,  who  stayeo 
at  Home. 

Brooke's  Friend,  who  sees  Things  as  they  are. 

A  Cheerful  Cripple. 

Sportsman  and  Misanthrope. 

Idealist  and  Artist. 

Engaged  in  climbing  the  Ladder  of  Journal- 
ism from  the  Bottom  Rung. 

A  Farm  Hand  working  on  Shares. 

Of  Oaklands,  Friend  of  Stead  and  the  Law- 
tons,  and  Confidant-general  of  the  County. 

A  Travelling  Optimist. 

A  Person,  though  disguised  as  an  Old  Collie 
Dog. 


The  Usual  Critic's  Chorus,  composed  of  Citizens,  Villagers,  Male  and 
Female,  Commonplace,  Eccentric,  or  Otherwise. 

Time 
The  Present  Century. 


Place 
Manhattan  and  the  Hill  Country  of  the  Moosatuk. 


AT  THE    SIGN   OF  THE    FOX 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  RIVER  KINGDOM 

Robert  Stead  and  Dr.  Russell,  clad  for  hunting, 
tramped  down  a  pent  road  through  the  woodland  and 
halted  at  the  bars  that  separated  it  from  the  highway. 

Like  careful  woodsmen,  they  made  sure  that  their 
guns  were  at  half-cock  before  resting  them  against  the 
tumble-down  wall;  pulhng  out  pipe  and  tobacco  pouch, 
they  filled  and  fingered  the  smooth  bowls  with  the  delib- 
eration that  is  akin  to  restfulness.  Then,  face  to  wind- 
ward, they  appUed  the  match  and  drew  the  few  rapid 
pufiFs  that  kindle  the  charmed  fire,  and  leaning  on  the 
top  rail,  looked  down  the  slope  to  where  the  river,  broad 
and  tranquil  as  it  passed,  narrowed  and  grew  more  elu- 
sive as  the  eye  traced  it  toward  its  starting-point  in  the 
north  country  many  miles  away. 

For  more  than  a  hundred  miles  between  its  throne  in 
i;he  hill  country  and  the  sea  travels  the  Moosatuk,  and 
all  the  land  through  which  it  passes  is  its  kingdom. 
What  its  stem  mood  was  in  the  ancient  days  when  as 

B  I 


2  AT  THE  SIGN  OF   THE  FOX 

an  ice-floe,  maybe,  it  tore  a  pathway  through  the  granite 
hills,  fortressing  them  with  spUntered  slabs  and  tossing 
huge  boulders  from  its  course,  man  may  but  guess ;  but 
to-day  a  wild  thing,  half  tamed,  it  obeys  while  it  still 
compels.  Above,  below,  confined  by  dams,  it  does  the 
will  of  man;  and  yet,  flow  where  it  will,  man  follows, 
with  his  mills,  his  factories,  his  railways,  until,  by  spread- 
ing into  shallows,  it  half  eludes  his  greed.  For  twenty 
sinuous  miles  it  follows  a  free,  sunlit  course,  now  run- 
ning swift  and  lapping  the  banks  of  httle  islands  wooded 
with  hemlocks,  now  stretching  itself  on  the  smooth  peb- 
bles until  it  tempts  the  unwary  to  the  crossing  on  a 
bridge  of  stepping-stones.  For  all  this  space  the  ferns 
and  wood  flowers  stoop  from  the  slanting  banks  to 
snatch  its  Ungering  kisses,  the  wood  folk  drink  from  it, 
the  wild  fowl  sleep  on  it,  and  its  waters  bear  no  heavier 
responsibility  or  weight  than  driftwood  or  the  duck 
boat,  that  steals  silently  forth,  a  shadow  in  the  morn- 
ing twilight,  like  the  Mohican  canoes  that  a  mere  cen- 
tury ago  pUed  the  selfsame  waters. 

Such  is  the  Moosatuk  where  it  passes  Gilead,  a 
peaceful  village  halfway  between  Stonebridge  and 
Gordon,  with  its  farmsteads  filhng  the  fertile  river 
valley  and  climbing  up  the  hillside  as  if  to  shun  rail- 
ways, until  from  below  the  topmost  are  lost  in  the  trees, 
like  the  aeries  of  some  furtive  hawk  or  owl  of  the  woods. 
This  was  the  scene  which  lay  below  the  hunters  as  they 


THE  RIVER  KINGDOM  3 

paused  to  rest  in  the  October  noon  glow  before  return- 
ing to  Stead's  lodge  on  top  of  Windy  Hill. 

For  a  little  space  neither  man  spoke.  In  fact,  the 
last  mile  of  their  walk  had  passed  in  silence  save  for 
the  occasional  smothered  exclamation  of  the  younger 
hunter,  when  he  came  upon  a  snare,  now  and  then, 
and  broke  it.  Even  the  dry  leaves  lay  untouched  in 
their  tracks,  for  the  foot  of  a  woodsman  seems  instinc- 
tively to  avoid  the  dead  twig  and  leaf-filled  rut. 

The  dogs,  two  brown-eyed,  mobile  Gordon  setters, 
well  understanding  that  the  signal  of  stacked  arms  and 
the  smell  of  tobacco  meant  that  the  day's  work  was 
over,  started  unchidden  on  a  private  hunting- trip,  nos- 
ing about  through  the  ground-pine  and  frost-bleached 
lady-ferns,  and  paused  with  tails  swinging  in  wide 
circles  before  a  great  patch  of  glossy  wintergreen, 
where  a  ruffed  grouse  or  shy  Bob-white  had  doubtless 
made  his  breakfast  on  the  pungent  scarlet  berries. 
Out  in  the  Httle-used  highway,  October,  herself  an 
Indian  in  her  colour  schemes,  had  set  her  loom  in  the 
grass-divided  wheel  tracks,  a  loom  of  many  strands, 
wherein  she  wove  a  careful  tapestry  of  russet,  bronze, 
crimson,  gold,  and  ruby  from  leaf  of  beech,  sumach,  oak, 
pepperidge,  chestnut,  birch,  and  purpling  dogwood, 
only  to  drop  it  as  a  rug  for  hoof  tracks  or  fling  it  aloft 
at  random,  a  bit  of  gracious  drapery  for  the  too  stem 
granite. 


4  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

Between  these  two  men,  neither  young,  as  often  hap- 
pens between  close  friends  of  either  sex,  silence  did  not 
come  from  lack  of  mutual  understanding.  It  is  only 
the  machine-made  or  undeveloped  brain  that  mistakes 
garruUty  for  companionship  and  casts  the  bhght  of 
motiveless  chatter  upon  the  precious  gift  of  silent  hours, 
wherein  the  soul  may  learn  to  know  itself. 

More  than  fifteen  years  divided  their  ages,  and  their 
temperaments  were  wider  still  apart;  you  could  judge 
this  even  from  trifles,  as  the  shape  of  their  pipes  and 
the  way  in  which  they  held  and  smoked  them. 

Robert  Stead,  turning  fifty,  tall  and  well  knit,  had 
heavy,  matted  brown  hair,  beard  cut  close,  and  impene- 
trable eyes,  whose  colour  no  one  could  tell  offhand, 
any  more  than  he  might  read  the  meaning  of  the  mus- 
tache-hid mouth.  His  firm  walk  and  clear  skin  told 
of  strength  and  present  outdoor  hfe ;  his  sUghtly  rounded 
shoulders  spoke  either  of  past  indoor  hours  or  the  resist- 
less, flinching  attitude  where  a  man  ceases  to  face  the 
storms  of  Ufe  with  chest  thrown  out  and  head  erect  as  if 
to  say  to  warring  elements  —  "See,  I  am  ready;  come 
and  do  your  worst !"  "Silent  Stead"  people  hereabout 
called  him  from  his  taciturnity,  and  he  either  held  his 
short  brier  close  against  his  lips  and  puffed  between 
tightly  clinched  teeth,  as  if  pulling  against  time,  or  in  the 
revulsion  let  the  flame  die  out  until,  forgotten,  the  pipe 
hung  cold,  bitter,  and  noisome  between  his  lips. 


THE  RIVER  KINGDOM  5 

Dr.  Russell's  pipe,  a  plain  meerschaum  of  moderate 
length,  held  with  light  firmness,  was  smoked  deliber- 
ately as  something  that  soothed  yet  held  in  no  thrall,  and 
when  its  first  sweetness  passed,  with  a  sharp,  cleansing 
rap,  he  returned  the  pipe  to  his  pocket.  Though  in  the 
later  sixties,  the  doctor  radiated  all  the  hope  of  youth. 
One  reahzed  that  his  was  a  face  to  trust,  even  before 
compassing  its  details;  the  easy  turn  of  his  shapely, 
well-poised  head,  with  its  closely  cut  hair  blended  of 
steel  and  silver,  every  glance  of  his  searching  gray  eyes, 
that  looked  frankly  from  under  eyebrows  that  were  still 
black,  conveyed  both  comprehension  and  sympathy. 
His  nose  was  straight  and  not  too  long,  and  the  thin 
nostrils  quivered  with  all  the  sensitiveness  of  a  highly 
strung  horse,  while  the  mouth  was  saved  from  the  stern- 
ness to  which  the  firm  chin  seemed  to  pledge  it  by  a 
drooping  of  the  comers  that  told  of  a  keen  sense  of 
humour.  In  stature  he  was  of  medium  height,  but  his 
shoulders  were  still  squared  to  the  burdens  of  Hfe,  and 
his  erect  carriage  made  him  appear  tall ;  but,  after  all, 
the  secret  of  his  youth  lay  in  a  quality  of  mind,  the  very 
quality  that  the  younger  man  lacked  —  his  steadfast 
faith  and  confidence  in  his  fellow-men  ;  this  had  lasted 
undaunted  by  disappointment  during  the  forty  years 
and  more  that  he  had  held  to  them  the  closest,  wisest, 
and  most  blessed  of  human  ministries  —  that  of  the 
good  physician. 


6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

The  doctor's  pipe  grew  cold,  and  placing  it  in  one  of 
the  deep  pockets  of  his  jacket,  he  fumbled  in  the  other 
as  he  turned  to  his  companion,  saying:  "Was  I  not 
right,  Rob?  Give  the  city  boys,  with  their  automo- 
biles and  pretty  clothes,  and  the  trolley-car  hunters,  the 
first  two  weeks  of  October  in  which  to  moult  their  fine 
feathers,  ruin  their  firearms  and  dispositions,  and  decide 
that  the  Moosatuk  has  been  overhunted,  and  we  may 
have  the  rest  of  open  season  to  ourselves  without  danger 
when  crossing  a  brush  lot  in  broad  daylight  of  being 
mistaken  for  wild  turkeys  or  what  not.  It  is  the  eigh- 
teenth to-day.  We've  tramped  good  twenty  miles  since 
daybreak,  and  whom  have  we  met  ?  A  woman  looking 
for  cows,  two  men  stacking  slab  sides,  and  some  school 
children  on  the  cross-road,  while  we've  had  our  fill  of  air 
unpeppered  by  small  shot,  this  glorious  view  at  every 
curve  and  through  every  gap,  and,"  freeing  his  pocket, 
"a  brace  of  grouse,  another  of  quail,  and  three  wood- 
cock as  an  excuse  for  our  outing,  in  the  eyes  of  those  who 
insist  that  excuses,  aside  from  the  desire,  must  be  made 
for  every  act. 

"Strange,  perhaps,  that  the  killing  and  hunting  lust 
should  be  an  excuse.  I  often  feel  like  begging  pardon 
of  these  little  hunched-up  feathered  things;  but  in  spite 
of  humanitarian  principles,  I  somehow  fear  that  we  are 
growing  too  nice,  and  when  the  hunting  fever  dies  out 
wholly,  something  vital  is  lacking  in  a  man.'* 


THE  RIVER  KINGDOM  7 

"Hunting  fever  or  not,"  replied  Stead,  kicking  a  de- 
caying log  at  his  feet  into  dust,  "I'd  rather  the  woods 
were  full  of  visible  men  with  guns  than  invisible  snares. 
Do  you  know  that  I  have  broken  thirty  or  more  this 
morning  ?  Some  day  these  setters  of  snares  and  I  shaU. 
meet,  and  there  will  be  trouble ;  it  seems  that  I  am  des- 
tined always  to  war  with  the  intangible."  Then  he 
spread  his  game  on  the  fence,  and  though  it  outranked 
the  doctor's  spoils,  he  seemed  to  take  no  pleasure  in  it, 
but  still  looked  moodily  across  the  river. 

"Ah,  Rob,  Rob,"  said  the  doctor,  throwing  his  arm 
affectionately  about  the  shoulder  of  the  taller  man,  who 
leaned  heavily  on  the  fence-top,  "will  your  mood  never 
change  ?  Can  you  not  forgive  and  at  least  play  bravely 
at  forgetting? 

"  It  is  ten  years  —  no,  eleven  —  since  your  child  whom 
I  tended  died  and  Helen  left  you,  or  you  her,  whichever 
way  you  choose  to  put  it.  The  why  of  it  all  you  have 
never  deemed  best  to  tell,  and  I  have  never  asked,  trust- 
ing your  manhood.  She  led  her  own  life  then  for  the. 
four  years  she  lived.  I  have  managed  to  see  you  every 
year  since,  in  spite  of  the  drifting  life  your  profession 
forced  upon  you.  And  since  the  railway's  completion, 
when  you  settled  here,  I've  spent  a  week  of  my  hoUday 
each  autumn  with  you,  hoping  to  see  a  change,  believing 
you  would  waken  and  live  your  life  out  instead  of  mop- 
ing it  away.     But  no !    Your  work  and  old  comrades 


8  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

need  you,  and  you  still  refuse.  What  is  it,  Rob  ?  Life 
seems  so  good  to  me  with  the  threescore  and  ten  in  plain 
sight  that  I  cannot  bear  to  see  it  playing  through  your 
fingers  at  fifty. 

"Love  may  be  gone,  or  clouded,  let  us  say,  but  there 
is  always  work,  and  work  is  glorious !  Get  out  of  your 
own  shadow,  man,  and  let  the  sun  pass.  It  is  with  you 
as  The  AUegorist  says:  — 

"  *  One  looked  into  the  cup  of  life, 

And  let  his  shadow  fall  athwart  ; 
The  wine  gleamed  darkly  in  the  cup  — 
It  surely  was  of  bitter  sort.' " 

Stead  withdrew  his  gaze  from  the  river  and  turned  it 
on  the  face  of  his  companion. 

"I  know  it  all,  doctor,  and  much  more  than  you  can 
say.  I  know  you've  clung  to  me  when  no  one  else  would 
trouble,  and  that  you  drive  all  those  forty  miles  from 
home  every  autumn,  rain  or  shine,  to  tramp  the  woods 
with  me,  to  sit  beside  my  fire  and  give  me  comfort,  and 
yet —  Do  you  remember  the  old  adage,  that  'Life 
without  work  is  water  in  a  sieve'?  but  in  the  antiphon 
lies  the  sting,  *  Work  without  motive  cannot  live.'  It  is 
motive  that  is  dead  in  me.  I  think  I  have  forgiven,  I 
delude  myself  if  I  say  I  have  forgotten,  but,  good  God, 
doctor,  can  you  imagine  sitting  and  feehng  yourself  as 
useless  as  water  in  a  sieve  and  not  caring  ?  That  is  my 
misery.    If  I  could  only  really  care,  heart  and  soul,  for 


THE  RIVER  KINGDOM  9 

anything  for  one  short  month,  I  would  give  the  rest  of 
my  life  for  it. 

"I  have  not  even  the  primal  motive  of  hunger  that 
sets  the  wolf  a-prowling.  The  few  yearly  thousands  my 
father  left  me  have  put  that  chance  away,  and  my  con- 
tempt for  that  form  of  cowardice  precludes  suicide.  So 
I  have  actually  come  to  be  what  passes  current  for  con- 
tent, with  every  one  but  you.  Here  I  am,  located  for 
life  on  the  hillside,  with  only  half-breed  ]os6  left  of 
what  was,  with  my  books,  which  can  neither  dissemble 
nor  betray,  for  company,  and  so  long  as  I  have  food  I 
shall  have  dog  friends  to  follow  me  by  day  and  sleep 
by  me  at  night.  Then,  as  long  as  eyesight  lasts,  there 
is  my  River  Kingdom,"  and  Stead  stretched  his  arms, 
half  to  relax  their  tension,  toward  the  silver  fillet  shim- 
mering in  the  valley  below,  in  which  at  that  moment 
some  white  gulls,  with  black-tipped  wings,  hanging  in 
the  skyhke  clouds,  were  mirrored. 

Then,  giving  a  nervous,  mirthless  laugh,  he  whistled 
to  the  dogs,  and  as  if  led  to  speak  of  himself  too  much, 
he  turned  to  action,  and  vaulting  over  the  bars  with  but 
a  hand  touch,  trailed  his  feet  through  rifts  of  glowing 
leaves,  and  reaching  backward  for  his  gun,  said  lightly, 
"Who  was  it,  by  the  way,  that  christened  this  region 
The  River  Kingdom?    Was  it  your  daughter?" 

"No,  it  was  not  Barbara,"  said  the  doctor,  crossing 
the  bars,  but  more  sedately,  his  cheery  temper  reUeved 


10  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

at  the  change  of  theme.  "It  was  Brooke  Lawton,  a 
cousin  or  niece  or  some  such  kin  of  Miss  Keith  West  — 
a  lovable  child,  full  of  both  romance  and  common  sense. 
Her  father,  Adam  Lawton,  whom  you  must  have  met  in 
your  capacity  as  a  civil  engineer,  for  he  has  floated  many 
railway  schemes,  was  bom  here  in  Gilead  in  the  West 
homestead,  his  mother  being  of  that  family.  Though 
he  never  comes  here,  and  all  the  kin  but  Keith,  a  first 
cousin,  are  dead,  some  shght  sentiment  binds  him  to 
the  past,  and  he  has  kept  the  little  farm  abreast  of  all 
improvements  and  leaves  Keith  in  charge.  A  few  years 
ago  Brooke,  his  elder  child  and  only  daughter,  recover- 
ing from  an  illness,  came  up  and  spent  the  autumn; 
and  I,  being  here  for  the  shooting  and  knowing  Keith 
well,  for  she  and  my  sister  Lot  were  schoolmates  at 
Mt.  Holyoke  long  ago,  was  called  to  see  her  several 
times. 

"But  there  was  little  that  I  could  do  for  her,  —  in- 
domitable pluck  and  dauntless  spirits  were  her  best 
medicine.  Well  I  remember  one  gray,  cold  day,  the 
last  of  her  stay,  I  found  Miss  Keith  in  some  alarm  about 
her,  as  the  child  had  gone  out  on  foot  over  two  hours 
before. 

"As  we  stood  consulting  in  the  porch,  a  slim,  gray- 
coated  figure,  with  soft  brown  hair  flying  like  a  gypsy's, 
arms  full  of  autumn  leaves  and  berries,  came  swiftly 
down  the  lane  between  house  and  wood,  and  throwing 


THE  RIVER  KINGDOM  ii 

her  load  on  the  steps,  gazed  at  it  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy,  from 
which  she  waked  only  at  Miss  Keith's  words  of  chiding. 

"'I  —  lost?*  she  queried,  straightening  her  thick 
eyebrows  into  an  expression  of  incredulity,  'why,  Cousin 
Keith,  I've  only  been  to  my  River  Kingdom  collecting 
tribute,  but  when  I'm  grown  up  and  do  as  I  please,  I'm 
coming  back  here  to  reign  and  have  the  wild  flowers 
bow  to  me  when  I  pass  and  the  Uttle  wood  beasts  follow 
me  in  procession.' 

"  I  must  have  told  you  of  it  at  the  time,  for  I  was  stop- 
ping with  you.  Yes,  it  was  Brooke  Lawton  who 
christened  the  River  Kingdom,  —  but  she  never  re- 
turned, and  I  heard  indirectly  that  she  had  gone  abroad 
to  study  art.  Come  to  think  of  it,  she  must  be  a  grown 
woman  now,  at  the  rate  time  goes.  All  of  which  re- 
minds me  that  I  sent  word  that  I  would  go  to  Miss 
Keith's  to-day;  she  wants  counsel  of  some  sort,  about 
what  I  could  not  even  surmise  from  her  letter.  As  she 
is  one  of  the  good  middle-aged  women  who  always 
wish  excuses  made  for  every  act,  I  will  take  her  these 
grouse  as  an  apology  and  tangible  explanation  as  to  my 
clothes  and  gun,  and  as  she  always  insists  that  I  should 
take  a  meal  with  her,  you  will  not  see  me  until  supper- 
time.  If  you  will  tell  Jos6  to  dress  and  split  the  quail, 
I  myself  will  broil  them  over  the  wood  coals  in  your  den, 
spitted  on  hickory  forks.  Metal  should  never  touch 
wild  fowl,  but  you  of  the  younger  generation  do  so 


12  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

grudge  trouble  and  seem  to  have  no  capacity  for  detail," 
and,  half  chiding,  half  laughing.  Dr.  Russell  shouldered 
his  beloved  gun,  picked  up  the  grouse,  smoothed  the 
rumpled  ruff  of  the  cock  bird,  and  started  on  the  mile 
walk  downhill  to  the  West  homestead,  whistling. 

Robert  Stead  looked  after  him  a  moment,  and  then, 
calling  the  dogs  to  heel,  started  up  the  hillside  in  an  op- 
posite direction.  Before  him  for  a  single  instant  stood 
the  form  of  the  young  girl  of  the  River  Kingdom,  as  Dr. 
Russell  had  portrayed  her,  with  arms  full  of  gay  leaves 
and  vines  that  she  had  stripped  from  the  hedges  as  she 
went,  but  as  he  reached  her  she  vanished,  and  turning 
toward  the  river  itself,  he  was  half  surprised  to  find  it 
still  moving  as  ceaselessly  as  ever.  Love  had  mocked 
him  long  ago  and  motive  eluded  him,  but  the  dog  at  his 
side  touched  his  fingers  with  caressing  tongue,  and  the 
River  Kingdom  still  remained. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  BELATED   FIRST  CAUSE 

The  West  farm  was  on  the  upper  of  the  two  roads 
between  Stonebridge  and  Gordon,  at  the  point  where  a 
steep  uphill  grade  paused,  on  a  plateau  of  several  hun- 
dred feet  in  length,  as  if  to  rest  and  take  breath  and 
allow  those  who  travelled  upon  it  to  drink  in  the  splen- 
dour of  the  river  view  before  attempting  the  still  steeper 
ascent  beyond. 

Three  generations  of  Wests  had  lived  from  this  farm 
until,  some  forty  years  before,  its  hundred  acres  being 
all  too  small  for  the  needs  of  modem  push  and  life,  the 
last  young  male  of  the  family,  a  man  of  twenty  odd,  of 
tenacious  mixed  Scotch  and  New  England  stock,  had 
gone  to  New  York  to  follow  a  quicker  game  of  dollars. 

In  due  course,  when  Adam  Lawton's  parents  died, 
his  mother  having  been  a  West  and  the  homestead  her 
portion,  he  found  himself  absorbed  in  the  beginnings  of 
money-making,  yet  somewhere  in  him  was  a  deep-buried 
sentiment  for  his  boyhood's  home,  stem  though  the  Ufe 
and  discipline  had  been,  and  even  though  he  found  no 
leisure  to  revisit  it.  He  therefore  had  installed  his  ma- 
temal  cousin  Keith  in  it  as  guardian,  paying  the  taxes 

13 


14  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

and  for  such  improvements  and  repairs  as  kept  it 
apace  with  the  times.  Then  he  promptly  forgot  it, 
except  on  pay  days,  when  he  justified  himself  to  him- 
self, the  Scotch  thrift  in  him  insisting  on  justification, 
for  the  comparatively  slight  outlay,  by  saying  half 
aloud  to  his  private  secretary,  who  did  the  forwarding, 
"A  snug  little  place,  and  always  worth  a  price;  my 
daughter  fancies  it,  and  perhaps  some  day,  who  knows, 
I  may  like  to  go  back  there  for  a  rest." 

Thus  it  followed  that  Miss  Keith  and  the  farm  had 
lived  together  for  twenty  years  a  life  of  almost  wedded 
devotion.  The  sheep  had  disappeared  from  the  hills, 
it  is  true,  and  four  cows,  a  fat  horse,  and  countless 
chickens  and  ducks  represented  the  live  stock.  The 
cultivated  ground  had  been  reduced  to  a  great  corn-field, 
a  potato  patch,  and  vegetable  garden,  on  whose  borders 
grew  fruits  of  all  seasons,  the  rest  of  the  land  being  sown 
down  to  rye  or  hay,  while  the  woodland  that  protected 
the  house  on  the  north  and  east,  being  only  required  to 
peld  kindlings,  had  returned  to  the  beauty  of  a  forest 
primeval,  with  a  dense  growth  of  oak,  white  pine,  and 
hemlock,  underspread  with  untrodden  ferns,  amid 
which,  following  the  seasons'  call,  blossomed  arbutus, 
anemones,  moccasin  flowers,  snow  crystal  Indian  pipe, 
and  partridge  vine. 

Now,  for  the  first  time  in  all  these  years.  Miss  Keith 
was  faltering  in  her  single-hearted  allegiance,  and  this 


A  BELATED  FIRST  CAUSE  15 

upheaval  coming  on  her  fiftieth  birthday,  too,  gave  it  a 
double  significance.  At  fifty  one's  ideas  and  person 
are  supposed  to  be  settled  for  Ufe,  but  with  Miss  Keith 
her  semi-centennial  was  the  first  occasion  upon  which 
she  ever  remembered  to  have  felt  thoroughly  unsettled, 
and  as  she  stood  in  front  of  the  parlour  mantel-shelf, 
arms  akimbo,  gazing  at  the  First  Cause,  that  rested 
against  the  wall  between  the  fat  clock  and  a  blue  china 
vase  filled  with  quaking  grass,  she  alternately  frowned 
and  smiled. 

This  First  Cause  was  the  highly  finished  cabinet 
photograph  of  a  man,  coupled  with  a  suggestion  of  mar- 
riage contained  in  a  letter,  the  edge  of  the  pale  blue 
envelope  containing  which  peeped  from  under  the  gar^ 
rulous  little  clock  that  ticked  vociferously  the  twenty- 
four  hours  through,  and  gave  an  alarming  whir-r, 
suggestive  of  asthma  in  the  depths  of  its  chest,  before 
striking  every  quarter  and  half,  and  mumbled  a  long 
grace  before  the  hours. 

The  photograph  was  of  a  man  past  fifty,  with  a 
good  head,  large,  wide-open  eyes,  and  a  broad  nose  that 
might  mean  either  stupidity  or  a  sense  of  humour,  ac- 
cording as  to  how  the  nostrils  moved  in  life.  Very  little 
else  could  be  said  of  the  face,  for  mustache  and  beard 
covered  it  closely,  mnning  up  before  the  ears  to  meet  a 
curly  mop  of  hair  that  roofed  the  head.  It  was  an 
attractive  face  at  first  glance,  and  the  low,  turned-over 


i6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

collar,  flowing  tie  that  was  barely  hinted  at  beneath  the 
beard,  and  loose  sack-coat  carried  out  the  suggestion  of 
strength,  that  was  continued  to  where  a  pair  of  power- 
ful hands,  whose  fingers  rested  together  easily  tip  to  tip, 
completed  the  picture. 

Picture  and  letter  had  arrived  three  days  before,  and 
yet  the  answer  to  the  latter  lay  in  process  of  construction 
upon  the  flap  of  the  old-fashioned  bookcase  in  the  win- 
dow comer.  Perhaps  the  cause  for  the  delay  was  more 
in  the  fact  that  both  picture  and  letter,  though  relating 
to  the  First  Cause,  had  not  come  directly  from  him,  but 
from  his  sister.  She  had  been  a  school  friend  of  Miss 
Keith's,  who  occasionally  came  to  visit  her  and  who 
was  now  living  in  Boston,  having  become  the  third  wife 
of  some  one  connected  in  a  humble  capacity  with  a  free 
library  in  the  city  where  the  State-house  dome  seeks  to 
rival  Minerva's  helmet,  and  whose  streets  ever  coil  in 
and  out  as  if  in  classic  emulation  of  Medusa's  locks. 

Taking  the  letter  from  under  the  clock,  Miss  Keith 
went  to  the  window  and  re-read  it  for  the  twentieth  time. 


"October  lo,  19 — . 
"My  dear  Friend: 

"  It  is  only  during  the  past  year,  since  I  have  been  liv- 
ing within  reach  and  under  the  privilege  and  influence 
of  all  that  is  inspiring  to  one  of  my  aspirations,  that 
I  have  reahzed  how  lonely  your  hfe  must  be  upon 


A  BELATED  FIRST  CAUSE  17 

that  farm,  where  your  only  intimate  associates  are 
animals,  feathered  and  otherwise,  and  evening,  instead 
of  becoming  as  it  is  with  me  the  period  of  self-culture 
in  the  society  of  a  loyal  male  companion,  is  too  often  a 
period  of  premature  somnolence  and  apathy. 

"  Until  now  I  have  seen  no  method  of  escape  to  offer 
you,  and  so  have  held  my  peace.  Two  weeks  ago,  how- 
ever, fortune  smUed  through  a  letter  from  my  brother, 
James  White,  out  in  Wisconsin.  You  must  remember 
James  —  the  handsome  man  with  curly  hair  who  waited 
on  Jane  Tilley  when  we  were  at  Mt.  Holyoke,  imtil  she 
jilted  him  for  Wilham  Parsons.  He  got  over  it  nobly, 
though,  and  brought  us  paper  flower  bouquets  the  day 
we  graduated.  Mine  was  of  red  and  white  roses,  and 
yours  was  all  white.  Surely  you  will  remember  —  he 
said  you  looked  *  quite  smart  enough  for  a  bride.' 

"  Well,  you  were  pretty  in  those  days,  Keith,  with 
your  white  skin  and  hght  brown  hair,  before  you  took 
on  freckles ;  but,  after  all,  dark  complexions  like  mine 
wear  the  best. 

"Now,  to  come  to  time — James  is  a  widower.  He  has 
sweet  children  and  needs  a  wife  and  mother  for  them. 
Though  there  are  plenty  of  western  women,  and  some 
that  have  hoards  of  money,  out  in  Comtown,  where  his 
canning  business  is,  he  was  always  particular  and  peck- 
ish, preferring  a  refined  eastern  woman  to  influence  his 
family.    Knowing  that  I  am  living  in  Boston  in  the 


i8  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

midst  of  opportunities,  so  to  speak,  our  home  being  half- 
way between  Bunker  Hill  Monument  and  Harvard 
University,  he  has  intrusted  me  to  select  him  a  wife. 
Your  face  appeared  to  me.  Putting  aside  more  pressing 
claimants,  I  wrote  to  him  of  the  girl  he  once  declared  fit 
to  be  *a  bride,'  and  sent  him  your  last  picture  —  at 
least  it's  the  last  I've  seen.  He  answered  by  return  post. 
He  has  not  forgotten,  and  he  will,  if  you  consent,  come 
here  the  first  of  May  to  meet  you  and  be  married. 

"  Now,  dear  Keith,  why  not  put  your  place  on  the  mar- 
ket, and  when  winter  sets  in  come  here  to  me  in  Boston 
and  see  the  world,  spend  a  season  of  relaxation,  hear 
lectures  and  music,  and  be  thus  attuned  for  matrimony 
in  the  sweet  spring,  when  the  horse-chestnut  buds  yield 
to  the  sun  and  drop  their  glossy  shields  in  the  PubHc 
Gardens  ? 

"  Your  friend  and  sister-in-law  to  be, 

"Judith  W.  Dow." 

Straightway  Miss  Keith,  the  strong  of  body  and  here- 
tofore of  mind,  the  adviser  of  both  men  and  women  for 
miles  around.  Miss  Keith,  the  capable,  who,  with  help 
"on  shares,"  made  the  Httle  farm  pay  and  hved  a  life  of 
bustling  content  that  was  the  opposite  of  somnolent 
vegetation,  began  mentally  to  chafe  and  rebel  against 
the  confinement  and  loneliness  of  her  lot,  and  yearn 
for    change,  —  she    who    had  always  preached   and 


A  BELATED  FIRST  CAUSE  19 

practised  that  one's  work  is  that  which  Ues  nearest  to 
hand. 

She  ignored  the  freckle  thrust  and  the  phrase  taking 
for  granted  that  the  farm  was  hers  to  sell.  The  words 
music  and  lectures  seemed  italicized,  yet  the  strongest 
appeal  in  the  crafty  letter  was  its  promise  of  human 
companionship,  for  she  had  often  yearned  for  kin. 

Miss  Keith  was  of  no  common  type,  even  among  the 
many  intelligent  women  reared  on  New  England  farms. 
She  had  struggled  her  way  through  Mt.  Holyoke  and 
fitted  herself  to  teach  in  the  Gilead  school,  where  she 
had  remained  ten  years,  until,  at  the  death  of  her  Aimt 
Lawton,  her  cousin  had  offered  to  install  her  at  the  farm, 
where  the  active  life  indoors  and  out  proved  a  strong 
attraction.  During  these  years  her  clear,  strong  voice 
had  led  in  singing-school  and  in  the  village  choir,  where 
it  still  held  sway,  —  the  fact  that  it  was  slightly  "weath- 
ered" increasing  rather  than  diminishing  its  power. 
Though  pale  of  hair  and  face,  at  no  time  in  her  Ufe  had 
she  been  wholly  unattractive,  and  her  speech,  some- 
times lapsing  into  provinciaHsms  when  she  was  either 
excited  or  constrained,  was  wholly  free  of  either  Yankee 
dialect  or  nasal  twang.  She  had  met  many  people  of 
all  grades  in  due  course,  —  farmers,  manufacturers, 
prospectors,  and  the  leisurely  class  of  cottagers  from 
Stonebridge  and  Gordon;  but  no  man  had  ever  said, 
"I  love  you." 


20  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Seating  herself  at  the  desk  with  an  unaccustomed 
drooping  of  the  head,  she  finished  the  letter  begun  the 
day  before,  filling  each  of  the  four  pages  with  rapid 
strokes,  folded  it  without  once  re-reading,  sealed  it  with 
a  bit  of  crumby  red  wax  that  had  not  seen  light  probably 
since  her  Aunt  Lawton  had  used  it  for  the  sealing  of  her 
will,  and  aflSxed  the  stamp  with  slow  exactness  pre- 
cisely in  the  proper  comer.  Then  with  folded  hands 
she  leaned  back  and  gazed  at  the  missive,  saying,  as  she 
did  so,  "  That  decides  it.  I  will  go  to  Boston  the  first  of 
the  year,  when  everything  is  closed  up  and  settled  for 
the  winter.  Farrish,  below,  can  tend  the  stock.  I've 
saved  a  little  money  to  enjoy  myself  with,  and  when 
May  comes,  if  James  White  turns  up  and  we  hold  to  the 
same  mind,  I  shall  marry  him ;  if  not  —  I  suppose 
Cousin  Adam  will  be  glad  for  me  to  come  back,  that  is, 
unless  he  makes  other  arrangements." 

The  alternative  to  the  matrimonial  scheme  seemed 
just  then  of  such  sUght  moment  that  she  hardly  pro- 
nounced the  words,  but  turned  to  leave  the  desk,  when 
a  sharp,  compelHng  bark  from  the  rug  before  the  hearth 
made  her  start  and  brought  a  red  spot  to  each  cheek. 

There  before  her  sat  a  shaggy  brown  dog,  setter  in 
build,  but  with  a  collie  cross  show'ng  in  eccentricities 
of  hair  that  formed  a  rufif  about  his  neck  and  gave  the 
tail  a  strange  bushiness.  A  pair  of  great,  soft,  brown 
eyes  were  fixed  on  Miss  Keith's  face,  and  the  expression 


A  BELATED  FIRST  CAUSE  21 

in  them  was  accentuated  by  the  slight  raising  of  the 
long,  mobile,  silky  ears,  which  seemed  to  ask  a  question. 
Meeting  no  response,  the  dog  barked  once  more  and 
raised  one  paw  pleadingly. 

Miss  Keith,  who  had  risen,  seated  herself  again  sud- 
denly. "Why,  Tatters,  old  man,  I've  forgotten  your 
breakfast,  and  it  is  almost  dinner-time.  Where  have 
you  been  since  yesterday?  Hunting  by  the  river? 
You  know  you  should  not  come  in  here  with  a  wet  coat 
and  muddy  paws.  Down !  Down ! "  she  cried,  as  the 
■dog,  never  moving  his  gaze  from  her  face,  crossed  the 
room  and,  sitting  on  his  haunches  before  her,  rested  his 
fringy  wet  paws  on  her  lap. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?    Thorns  or  burs  in  your  feet  ?  " 

The  dog  continued  to  look  at  her  steadfastly,  giving  a 
little  whine  meantime,  but  never  a  wag  of  his  tail. 

"Tatters!"  she  exclaimed  at  last,  moistening  her 
lips,  which  seemed  to  be  unaccountably  dry,  "I  beheve 
you  know  what  is  on  my  mind,  and  what  I've  been 
wrestling  with  in  the  spirit  these  three  days,  —  but  it's 
all  settled  now,  and  my  mind  is  free.  Come,  and  I'll 
get  your  dinner  bone." 

"Settled!"  and  then  the  thought  struck  her,  "What 
would  become  of  Tatters?"  A  new  caretaker  might 
easily  be  found  for  the  place  and  cattle,  who  would 
also  understand  the  pruning  of  the  cherished  vines  and 
fruit  trees,  but  would  he  understand  Tatters,  and  would 


22  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

Tatters  understand  or  tolerate  any  one  not  bom  of  the 
family  ?  As  long  as  people  of  the  West  stock  had  hved 
in  Gilead,  with  them  had  been  a  sturdy  breed  of  coihes 
and  setters,  whose  sagacity  and  nosing  power  were 
famed  throughout  the  country-side.  Now,  through 
chance  and  short-sightedness,  the  two  breeds  had 
merged  in  one,  and  Tatters,  of  middle  age,  wise  beyond 
the  dog  wisdom  of  his  ancestors,  was  its  only  repre- 
sentative. 

Ever  since  his  year  of  puppyhood,  when  Miss  Keith 
with  New  England  firmness  had  completed  his  house- 
breaking education,  he  had  been  the  house  man,  guard- 
ing the  picket  gate  by  day,  the  door  by  night.  In  his 
responsibility  of  combining  double  natures,  he  herded 
young  calves  in  a  poorly  fenced  pasture,  or  tracked  the 
turkey  hens  (those  most  brainless  of  feathered  things) 
when  they  recklessly  led  their  broods  into  the  dark 
woodland  in  May  storms.  As  setter,  he  ran  free  by  the 
wagon  when  Miss  Keith  took  eggs,  butter,  or  berries 
to  her  various  customers,  dashing  in  among  the  hordes 
of  EngUsh  sparrows  by  the  roadside,  or  going  afield 
with  cautious  tread  and  circling  tail  to  flush  the  flocks 
of  meadowlarks  with  eager  sporting  fervour.  As  coUie, 
with  Scotch  traditions  in  his  blood,  he  followed  her  to 
meeting  or  singing-school,  and  slept  under  the  pew  seat 
or  sat  sentinel  in  the  vestibule,  according  to  season  and 
weather.    Then  by  the  winter  hearth  fire  he  was  Miss 


A  BELATED  FIRST  CAUSE  23 

Keith's  counsellor,  for  in  spite  of  the  stoves  that  her 
Cousin  Adam  had  supplied,  her  practicaHty  of  mind, 
and  the  labour  it  entailed,  she  had  a  primeval  streak  in 
her  that  yearned  to  see  the  heat  that  warms  one.  Tat- 
ters was  the  silent  partner,  it  is  true,  in  their  discussions, 
and  merely  looked  assent  as  he  listened  to  the  oft- 
repeated  tale  of  short  weight  in  feed,  and  the  sloth  of 
hired  men  as  opposed  to  the  thrift  of  those  who  work 
on  shares,  with  perfect  composure,  yet  let  one  of  these 
hired  men  but  raise  his  voice  in  unamiable  argument 
with  Miss  Keith,  and  Tatters  crouched  to  heel,  upper 
lip  cleared  from  his  glistening  teeth,  ready  for  action, 
and  no  one  ever  braved  the  warning. 

Then,  too,  he  took  the  responsibility  of  beginning  the 
day's  work  upon  his  shaggy  shoulders.  At  six  o'clock 
in  winter,  changing  to  five  on  May  day,  he  left  his  rug 
in  the  outer  kitchen,  and  going  to  Miss  Keith's  bedroom, 
nosed  open  the  door,  wedged  from  jarring  by  a  mat,  and 
after  lifting  her  stout  sHppers  to  the  bed  edge,  carefully, 
one  by  one,  with  many  false  starts  and  droppings,  if 
she  did  not  waken,  he  would  sit  down,  and  with 
thrown  back  head  give  quick,  short  barks  until  he  had 
response. 

How  did  he  know  hours  and  dates  ?  How  do  we 
know  that  of  which  we  are  most  sure,  yet  cannot  prove 
by  mathematical  problems  ?  He  did  know  —  that  was 
sufficient. 


24  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

As  all  these  things  surged  through  Miss  Keith's  brain, 
the  First  Cause  on  the  mantel-shelf  grew  more  remote, 
and  folding  her  strong  lean  arms  about  the  pleading  dog, 
she  rested  her  face  against  his  head  and  began  to  cry 
softly,  a  thing  unheard  of. 


CHAPTER  m 

THE  DECISION  OF  MISS  KEITH 

It  was  while  mistress  and  dog  were  thus  absorbed 
that  Dr.  Russell,  gun  on  shoulder,  and  grouse  dan- 
gling from  his  fingers,  came  up  the  side  road  on  the 
south  that  separated  house  and  garden  plot  from  the 
bam  and  outbuildings,  that  stood  close  to  the  lane 
edge,  facing  it,  like  a  row  of  precise  soldiers  drawn  up 
to  give  salute. 

He  expected  that  at  his  first  footfall  on  the  side  porch 
his  coming  would  be  heralded  by  short,  percussive 
barks,  —  Tatters'  greeting  to  his  friends.  He  knocked 
twice,  then  tried  the  yielding  door-knob,  and  entered 
the  kitchen,  where  various  saucepans,  boiUng  over 
madly  and  deluging  the  polished  stove  with  an  im- 
promptu pottage,  told  of  some  sort  of  domestic  lapse. 
Crossing  the  hallway,  guided  by  a  hght  streak  toward 
the  first  open  door,  he  entered  the  sitting  room  at 
the  moment  that  Miss  Keith  had  raised  her  wet  eyes 
from  Tatters'  head,  and  was  alternately  rubbing  them 
with  her  handkerchief,  held  in  one  hand,  and  looking 
at  her  answer  to  the  disturbing  letter,  held  in  the  other. 

25 


26  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Miss  Keith,  —  bad 
news  or  a  love  letter?"  the  doctor  asked  with  the 
easy  cheerfulness  that  showed  how  Httle  real  anxiety 
lay  beneath  the  question.  "The  carrier  said  that 
you  wished  to  see  me  to-day,  and  so  I've  come  down, 
but  I'd  no  idea  that  it  was  about  a  tearful  matter, 
and  one  in  which  Tatters  was  too  much  involved  to 
'watch  out'  as  usual." 

Taken  thus  unawares,  an  aggressive  expression  crossed 
Miss  Keith's  face  for  an  instant,  but  immediately  dis- 
appeared under  the  influence  of  the  doctor's  smile, 
and,  quickly  recovering,  she  answered,  as  she  gave 
her  hands  into  his  hearty  grasp :  "  It  is  both  bad  news 
and  a  letter.  To-day  is  my  fiftieth  birthday,  —  you 
see  I  do  not  beheve  in  belying  the  Lord's  work  and 
concealing  one's  age  as  some  do,  —  and  I've  had  a 
letter  that  I  want  man's  counsel  upon."  Then,  as  a 
sound  of  liquid  hissing  on  a  hot  stove  and  the  smell 
of  burning  food  came  from  the  hallway,  she  remem- 
bered the  time  of  day,  the  dinner  in  peril,  and  her 
duties  as  housekeeper,  at  the  same  moment,  and 
mumbling  a  hasty  apology,  fled  to  the  kitchen,  followed 
by  the  doctor,  who,  after  making  the  grouse  serve  as 
a  birthday  offering,  wisely  retired  to  the  sitting  room 
until  dinner  should  be  ready. 

Once  there,  he  made  a  few  rapid  but  direct  obser- 
vations, beginning  with  the  First  Cause  on  the  mantel- 
shelf. 


THE  DECISION  OF  MISS  KEITH        27 

Then,  as  he  saw  the  two  letters  on  the  desk,  one  en- 
velope hastily  torn  open  and  bearing  the  signs  of  much 
handling,  the  other  carefully  sealed  and  lying  face 
downward,  he  chuckled  to  himself.  "Woman  all 
through.  Miss  Keith,  in  spite  of  everything.  Ten 
to  one  she  has  made  up  her  mind  and  answered  her 
letter  while  she  was  waiting  for  me  to  come  and  advise 
with  her  about  it.  At  the  same  time,  when  the  dinner 
is  off  her  mind,  she  will  tell  me  the  whole  story,  and 
discuss  it  from  the  very  beginning,  for  the  mere  pleasure 
of  it;  but  no  matter  what  I  may  say,  she  will  post  the 
letter  already  written."  Then,  going  over  to  the  book- 
case that  topped  the  desk,  he  unlocked  the  diamond- 
paned  door,  and  pulling  out  a  book  at  random,  which 
proved  to  be  a  dingy  copy  of  Hogg's  "Shepherd's 
Calendar,"  he  resigned  himself  to  the  inevitable  drowsi- 
ness bom  of  the  volume  and  his  long  walk,  and  stretch- 
ing himself  on  the  wide  haircloth  sofa,  was  soon 
taking  the  "forty  winks"  that  should  sharpen  his  wits 
for  the  coming  interview. 

Fortunately  he  awoke  before  Miss  Keith  came  to 
call  him,  for  she  had  scant  respect  for  either  man  or 
woman  who  was  caught  napping  in  broad  daylight; 
and  together  they  went  out  to  the  wide  kitchen  that 
served  also  as  a  cheerful  dining  room,  with  its  long 
double  window  filled  with  plants  and  beau-pot  of  gay 
chrysanthemums  on  the  table,  the  doctor  meanwhile 


28  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

offering  Miss  Keith  his  arm,  half  with  natural,  courtly 
deference,  half  in  mischief,  a  frequent  mood  of  his 
that  old  friends  understood  and  loved. 

At  first  Miss  Keith,  speaking  clearly  for  the  sake 
of  breaking  silence,  appeared  nervous.  The  talk  ran 
lightly  in  general  channels,  —  the  glorious  season,  the 
shooting,  the  way  in  which  the  trolley  line  had  turned 
the  horse  traffic  from  the  turnpike  to  the  upper  road, 
and  how  much  more  fife  passed  the  West  farm,  Miss 
Keith  telling  that  sometimes  of  an  afternoon  a  dozen 
pleasure  vehicles  on  the  way  from  Stonebridge  to 
Gordon,  or  the  reverse,  would  stop  on  the  plateau 
under  the  pines,  combining  a  resting  spell  for  horses 
with  their  drivers'  enjoyment  of  the  view. 

Next  Silent  Stead  and  his  bachelor  housekeeping 
on  Windy  Hill  followed  in  natural  sequence.  Did 
the  doctor  know  the  real  story  about  Stead's  dead  wife, 
or  if  it  were  true  that  he  was  going  away,  back  to  his 
work  as  civil  engineer  again?  Many  visitors,  men  of 
weight  from  Gordon,  had  called  on  him  that  season, 
and  the  letter  carrier  said  he  had  many  thick  letters 
with  great  red  seals,  and  it  was  whispered  that  he  was 
wanted  to  direct  some  new  railway  enterprise  in  the 
far  West. 

No,  Dr.  Russell  could  not  answer,  other  than  to 
wish  the  gossip  that  sent  his  friend  back  to  the  world's 
work  might  foreshadow  the  truth. 


THE  DECISION  OF  MISS  KEITH        29 

Then  the  doctor  took  the  lead,  asking  home  ques- 
tions about  Mr.  Lawton  and  the  other  kin,  saying, 
"I  met  your  Cousin  Adam  last  winter  in  New  York 
one  evening  at  the  Century,  where  Martin  Cortright 
introduced  us.  His  is  a  keen  and  interesting  face, 
though  rather  nerve-worn.  As  he  stood  among  a 
group  of  financiers,  that  also  deal  liberally  by  the 
various  arts,  his  eyes  roved  about,  dilating  and  con- 
tracting strangely,  as  if  they  followed  the  workings  of  a 
dozen  thoughts  each  minute,  though  otherwise  his  face 
remained  unchanged  and  he  never  moved  a  muscle. 

"Did  I  like  him?  He  is  not  easy  to  approach,  and 
it  was  only  when  I  told  him  that,  though  living  at 
Oaklands,  I  go  inland  every  autumn  for  the  hunting, 
and  know  Gilead  well,  also  his  Cousin  Keith  and  West 
farm,  where  I  had  once  seen  his  daughter  Brooke,  that 
his  eye  brightened  and  he  showed  any  interest,  while 
at  the  same  moment  some  one  whom  he  had  evidently 
been  watching  broke  away  from  a  distant  group,  and, 
your  cousin  darting  off  to  join  him,  our  talk  ceased." 

"If  Adam  cares  for  anything  but  money- making, 
which  I've  sometimes  doubted,  it  is  for  Brooke," 
said  Miss  Keith,  quite  at  her  ease  again,  the  coffee  that 
she  was  pouring  being  fully  up  to  its  reputation.  "In 
fact,  he  deeded  this  farm  to  her  on  her  twenty-first 
birthday,  all  on  the  strength  of  her  girlish  whim  and 
talk  long  ago  about  the  River  Kingdom.    This  also 


30  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

makes  me  feel  uncertain  about  my  stay  here.  What 
if  Brooke  should  marry  and  he  should  wish  her  to  sell 
the  place?  Not  that  Adam  has  ever  said  a  word  to 
me  about  the  transfer,  and  he  pays  the  taxes  and 
what  not  just  the  same,  but  Job  Farrish  was  looking 
up  his  boundaries  last  spring  and  saw  the  deed  recorded 
in  the  Town  House.  In  fact,  Adam  himself  never 
writes  nowadays,  his  secretary  does  it  all;  and  even 
Brooke  has  only  written  once  this  year,  and  that  was 
when  I  said  the  gutter  having  leaked,  the  north  room 
needed  new  paper,  and  she  sent  it  —  pretty  it  is,  too, 
wild  roses  running  through  a  rustic  lattice  —  she's 
always  had  an  open  eye  for  colour." 

"What!  is  that  gypsy  child  twenty-one?"  exclaimed 
the  doctor  in  surprise,  pushing  back  his  chair  so  as 
to  pull  Tatters'  head  between  his  knees  and  stroke  his 
ears,  at  the  same  time  that  he  drew  his  coffee  cup  toward 
him,  sniffing  the  subtle  aroma,  only  second  in  his  nos- 
trils to  that  of  the  fresh  earth  in  spring  and  his  beloved 
pipe.  "  It  seems  but  a  year  or  so  since  she  was  roving 
about  the  lane  with  her  hair  flying  and  Tatters  after 
her,  —  the   two   were   inseparable." 

"Twenty-one!  Why,  Dr.  Russell,  that  time  was  eight 
years  ago,  the  second  autumn  you  came  up  to  hunt 
with  Silent  Stead.  She's  turned  twenty-four,  and  that 
Tatters  was  this  one's  uncle;  they  say  there  has  been 
a  dog  of  the  name  in  the  family  this  hundred  years  and 
more. 


THE  DECISION  OF  MISS  KEITH        31 

"Yes,  Brooke  was  twenty-four  last  May,  and  it 
seems  now  that  they  should  call  her  by  her  rightful 
Christian  name,  Pamela,  instead  of  that  absurd  one 
that  might  as  well  be  stick  or  stone.  You  did  not 
know  she  had  any  other?  Oh,  it  is  her  middle  name 
to  be  sure  —  Pamela  Brooke  Lawton.  Her  mother 
was  one  of  the  proud  old  Virginia'  Brookes,  and  they 
say,  failing  of  male  heirs  in  the  South,  they  often  call 
a  daughter  by  her  mother's  maiden  name.  Mannish 
and  affected  though,  I  call  it,  still  I  must  own  it  did 
suit  her  eight  years  ago,  for  she  had  as  many  ways 
and  turns  and  deep  and  shallow  places  as  that  little 
stream  on  Windy  Hill  that  begins  in  only  a  thread 
that  wouldn't  move  a  fern,  and  then  widens  to  the 
Glen  Mill-pond,  and  saws  all  the  wood  hereabouts 
and  grinds  the  flour  for  Gilead. 

"Yes,  she  has  been  here  several  times,  though  never 
to  stay  long;  mostly  she  came  with  her  great  friend, 
Lucy  Dean,  when  they  were  at  school  at  Farmington. 
I  never  liked  her  though,  she  had  a  way  of  asking 
point-blank  questions  and  calling  a  spade  a  spade 
that  sent  a  chill  through  you." 

"And  what  has  Brooke  been  doing  since  she's  been 
a  woman  grown?  What,  for  the  last  four  years?" 
asked  the  doctor,  returning  to  the  present  with  new 
interest  at  sound  of  Brooke's  name. 

"Let  me  see,"  and  Miss  Keith  began  counting  on 


32  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

her  fingers;  "after  Brooke  left  school,  she  and  her 
mother  and  father,  with  the  Dean  girl  and  the  Cub, 
spent  one  summer  travelhng  in  the  West,  —  Adam 
was  nosing  out  some  scheme  or  other.  Then  the 
women  folks  went  to  Europe  for  a  year  or  more,  leav- 
ing young  Adam,  the  Cub,  —  that's  what  they  call 
the  boy,  and  I  must  say,  poor  lad,  he  does  seem  a  misfit 
and  hard  to  manage,  —  at  a  mihtary  boarding-school 
somewhere. 

"The  Dean  girl  had  a  voice  that  her  people  thought 
worth  the  training,  though  I  never  heard  what  became 
of  it  after,  and  Brooke  wanted  to  go  on  with  her  paint- 
ing. Oh,  yes,  she  does  really  paint  —  doesn't  just  dab- 
ble colours  together  hke  a  marble  cake,  such  as  most 
pictures  are,  and  call  it  Art.  Why,  she  got  a  prize, 
they  say,  in  a  New  York  exhibition  for  a  picture  of 
some  children  eating  cherries.  I've  got  a  photograph 
of  it,  that  she  sent  me,  on  my  bureau.  It's  fine  work, 
good  judges  say;  all  the  same,  to  my  eye  it  lacks  one 
thing  —  it  doesn't  look  just  quite  alive.  If  she  was 
poor  and  had  to  work  and  kept  on,  I  guess  she'd 
get  somewhere;  but  now  she's  at  home  again,  and  in 
society,  and  not  being  in  need  of  money,  I  suppose 
she'll  let  the  painting  slip,  except  maybe  to  make 
candy   boxes   for   charity   fairs   and  such. 

"Adam's  always  been  too  busy  ever  to  have  much 
of  a  settled  home.    They  travelled  about  mostly  of 


THE  DECISION  OF  MISS  KEITH        33 

summers,  and  since  they  left  the  house  down  town 
two  years  ago,  where  the  children  were  bom,  they've 
lived  in  a  big  sort  of  apartment  arrangement,  half 
flat,  half  hotel,  as  near  as  I  can  make  it  out  — '  It 
gives  mamma  no  responsibility,'  Brooke  wrote  in  telling 
of  it.  But  without  some  responsibihty  you  can't  get 
much  home  comfort,  to  my  thinking. 

"Now  that  Brooke  is  educated  and  at  home,  I  hear 
her  father  is  building  a  big  city  house  and  another 
down  by  the  sea  somewhere,  and  so  perhaps  —  when 
he  has  money  enough  —  he  will  slow  up  and  take  a 
rest.  The  Lawtons  and  Wests  are  both  long-Hved, 
and  Adam  never  drank  or  dissipated,  I  guess;  but  I 
should  think  at  the  pace  he's  trotted  these  thirty 
years  he'd  be  footsore  by  this,  and  Hke  a  back-stairs 
sitting  room  out  of  reach,  and  a  loose  pair  of 
slippers. " 

Miss  Keith  grew  more  careless  of  her  speech  as 
she  warmed  to  her  subject,  and  Dr.  Russell  laughed 
outright  at  the  idea  of  the  Adam  Lawton  whom  he 
had  met,  taU  and  distinguished,  a  bundle  of  steel 
nerves  bound  by  will  power,  sitting  to  rest  anywhere, 
much  less  in  loose  sUppers  out  of  the  sound  of  the 
Whirlpool's  eddying. 

The  fussy  little  clock  in  the  sitting  room,  after 
making  many  futile  remarks,  Uke  a  choking  do-re-mi, 
landed  fairly  on  do,   and   struck   four!    Then   Miss 


34  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Keith,  saying  casually  that  she  must  skim  the  milk  at 
five,  began  to  unfold  her  plan  matrimonial. 

Shd  did  not  read  Mrs.  Dow's  letter  to  the  doctor, 
but  spoke  from  memory,  with  which  an  unexpected 
quality  of  imagination  blended  with  dangerous  fre- 
quency. 

Alack  a  day!  How  often  are  the  overworked  three 
graces.  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity,  pushed  into  the 
place  of  Truth,  Experience,  and  Common  Sense,  and 
forced  to  bear  responsibility  not  theirs! 

When  Miss  Keith  had  finished,  the  good  doctor 
naturally  supposed  that  she  had  received  a  direct 
proposal  from  an  old-time  lover  who,  once  rejected, 
had  married  some  one  else  in  pique.  Also  that  the 
making  of  the  sister's  home  the  meeting  place  was 
her  own  idea,  bom  of  her  maidenly  regard  of  the  pro- 
prieties, which  regard  he  well  knew  usually  strengthens 
in  inverse  proportion  to  the  need  for  it ! 

Finally,  as  he  arose  to  go,  she  said,  hovering  trem- 
ulously between  kitchen  and  sitting  room,  "Now 
that  I  know  that  you  agree  with  me,  I  will  ask  one 
favour  more.  I  have  a  letter  that  I  would  like  to 
have  posted  in  Gilead  by  your  hand  ;  these  outdoor 
letter  boxes  sometimes  leak,  you  know.  Then  I  shall 
sleep  content." 

"Most  certainly,"  said  the  doctor,  turning  back,  a 
smile  crossing  his  face  and  lurking  at  his  mouth  comers 


THE  DECISION  OF  MISS  KEITH        35 

at  this  latest  of  many  vocations  given  him  —  that  of 
Cupid's  postman,  though  he  could  not  but  admit 
that  his  age  made  him  a  peculiarly  suitable  assistant  in 
such  a  belated  wooing. 

As  he  took  the  letter,  he  involuntarily  turned  it  face 
upward,  and  glanced  at  the  address,  saying  in  a  dubi- 
ous tone,  his  eyebrows  raised:  "Mrs.  Dow?  Why 
not  James  White  himself?"  Then  adding,  with  a 
touch  of  irony  in  his  voice  that  Miss  Keith  missed, 
"Is  his  sister  acting  the  kindly  part  of  go-between? 
Ah,  so!  Well,  Miss  Keith,  no  one  but  yourself  can 
settle  so  delicate  a  matter  finally,  but  one  thing  promise 
me:  go  to  Boston,  if  you  will ;  jig  and  jostle,  hear 
reform  lectures  and  eat  health  food,  and  see  life  if 
you  must ;  but  for  God's  sake,  woman,  don't  commit 
yourself  until  you  have  seen  the  'sweet  children'  and 
the  man !  Photographs  can  lie,  as  well  as  tongues ! " 
Then,  fearing  he  had  been  too  harsh,  he  added  kindly, 
"If  you  find  that  Tatters  can't  transfer  himself,  as 
you  call  it,  let  me  know,  —  there  is  always  room  for 
one  more  dog  at  Oaklands,  and  Barbara  will  pamper 
him." 

That  night  Miss  Keith,  buoyed  by  the  doctor's  talk 
and  a  man's  recent  presence  in  the  house,  albeit  it  was 
temporary,  was  in  an  exalted  mood  and  trod  on  air. 
Already  she  saw  visions  of  the  future,  and  kept  saying 
to  herself,  "I  will  do  and  see  so  and  so  when  I  go  to 
Boston." 


36  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

When  she  lit  her  candle  and  went  upstairs,  she  took 
the  First  Cause  from  the  mantel  and  bore  him  with 
her.  Where  should  she  put  him  ?  Her  dresser  seemed 
too  intimate  a  place ;  the  spare  room  album,  too  remote. 
Finally  she  placed  the  photograph  against  the  puflFs 
and  quills  of  the  pillow-shams  of  the  best  room  bed 
and  then  fled  to  her  own  chamber,  where  she  blew 
out  the  candle  and  undressed  in  the  dark,  or,  rather, 
by  the  half  moonhght,  saying  aloud,  as  she  got  into 
bed,  "Thank  fortune  for  one  thing,  I've  kept  my  own 
hair  and  teeth,  and  such  as  I  am  there  is  nothing  of 
me  that  takes  off."  And  though  the  remark  was 
apropos  of  nothing  in  particular,  a  wave  of  hot  colour 
covered  her  face  at  the  words,  and  she  buried  her  head 
in  her  pillow  and  tried  to  sleep.  This  she  didn't  do, 
for  Tatters,  whom  she  had  utterly  forgotten  for  the 
first  time,  and  shut  out  when  she  closed  the  door, 
resented  being  forced  to  sleep  out  on  the  porch  at 
such  a  frosty  time,  and  at  intervals  throughout  the 
night  bayed  dismally  at  the  moon,  thereby  caUing  to 
her  mind  an  old  ballad  of  chilling  and  ominous  portent. 


CHAPTER  IV 

INTERLUDE 

On  a  bright  afternoon  in  early  December  a  number 
of  carriages  and  motor  cars  that  usually  entered  Central 
Park  via  the  Plaza  promptly  at  four,  continued  to  the 
right  instead,  and  in  impromptu  procession  slowed  down 
before  the  entrance  of  a  new  house  in  the  Park  Lane 
section  of  the  avenue. 

The  house  belonged  to  Senator  Parks,  and  on  this 
day  it  was  to  be  thrown  open  to  that  portion  of  the  pub- 
lic selected  by  the  social  sponsors  of  his  new  wife.  This 
wife,  being  a  rather  handsome  California  widow  on  the 
agreeable  side  of  thirty-five,  had  acquired  enough  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  during  a  three  years'  residence  abroad 
to  bend  the  knee  gracefully,  if  not  quite  sincerely,  to 
the  powers  that  make  or  mar  the  fate  of  newcomers,  at 
the  same  time  always,  so  to  speak,  carelessly  twisting 
in  plain  sight  between  her  slender  fingers  the  strings 
of  a  full  purse. 

The  conventional  "At  Home  from  4  to  7  o'clock," 
therefore,  had  more  than  the  usual  significance,  for  it 
was  known  to  imply  a  concert  in  the  superbly  appointed 

37 


38  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

music  hall,  by  singers  from  the  opera,  and  an  exhibition 
of  paintings  in  the  new  gallery,  so  spacious  that  it  ran 
from  block  to  block,  such  a  one  as  had  never  before 
been  seen  in  any  private  dwelHng  in  Manhattan.  Then^ 
too,  there  had  been  whispers  of  a  chef  of  GalUc  renown 
who  had  served  two  emperors  and  a  prince,  and  alto- 
gether society,  whose  appetite  is  rather  keen  at  the 
beginning  of  the  season,  expecting  novelty  or  at  least 
to  be  amused,  was  beginning  to  sally  forth.  It  did 
not  commit  itself  by  so  doing,  and  it  assumed  no  re- 
sponsibiUty  other  than  leaving  a  card,  by  footman  or 
otherwise,  at  the  door,  in  due  course;  it  merely  gave 
itself  the  opportunity  to  pass  judgment.  But  as  the 
new  hostess  understood  this  perfectly  well,  and  only 
desired  the  chance  of  playing  her  trump  card  to  win 
the  lead,  it  was  a  beautifully  frank  arrangement  on 
both  sides,  in  which  no  one  was  deceived. 

As  the  hour  passed  the  stream  of  carriages  became 
continuous,  the  cavernous  awning  that  swallowed  the 
people  as  soon  as  they  alighted  being  the  centre  of  that 
strange  mob,  usually  composed  of  fairly  well-dressed 
women,  who  appear  spontaneously  wherever  the  carpet- 
covered  steps  and  striped  awning  tell  of  an  entertain- 
ment to  be.  No  buzzard  hovering  in  air  drops  to  his 
prey  more  quickly  than  does  the  average  idle  woman 
catch  sight  of  this  emblem  of  hospitality. 

Two  yoimg  women,  walking  with  easy,  rapid  gait  up 


INTERLUDE  39 

the  avenue,  paused  on  the  outskirts  of  the  throng,  un- 
certain as  to  the  best  point  for  breaking  through.  At 
least  the  shorter  of  the  two  hesitated,  while  the  taller, 
after  a  swift  survey,  put  her  white-gloved  hands  firmly 
on  the  shoulders  of  a  gaping  dressmaker's  apprentice, 
turned  her  about,  saying,  as  she  did  so,  "Let  us  pass, 
please,"  and  instantly  a  way  was  opened. 

These  young  women  were  simply  dressed  for  the  street, 
with  no  obtrusive  fuss  and  feathers,  yet  each  had  an 
unmistakable  air  of  individuality  and  distinction.  They 
were  both  of  the  same  age,  twenty-four,  yet  the  diflfer- 
ence  in  colouring  and  poise  made  the  taller  appear  fully 
two  years  older.  She  had  glossy  black  hair,  tucked 
up  under  a  three-cornered  hat,  heavy  eyebrows,  from 
under  which  she  looked  one  straight  in  the  face  with  a 
half-defiant  look  in  the  steel-gray  eyes.  Her  nose  was 
aquiUne,  and  her  hps  rather  thin,  but  curled  in  a  hu- 
morous way  when  she  spoke.  She  was  broad  of  shoulder 
and  small  of  waist  and  hips ;  and  it  was  only  a  shy  curve 
of  neck  and  bust  that,  judging  from  poise  alone,  pre- 
vented one  from  thinking  Lucy  Dean  a  young  athlete 
masquerading  in  his  sister's  black  velvet  fur-trimmed 
frock  with  its  scarlet-slashed  sleeves. 

Brooke  Lawton,  her  companion,  looked  little  more 
than  twenty,  was  formed  in  a  more  feminine  mould,  and 
though  half  a  head  shorter,  was  stiU  of  medium  height. 
Her  hair,  of  the  peculiar  shade  of   ash  brown  with 


40  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

chestnut  glints  that  artists  love,  was  worn  rather  loose 
at  the  sides  and  gathered  into  a  curly  knot  at  the  back 
of  the  neck,  under  a  wide  brown  beaver  hat  that  was  tied 
below  the  chin  with  a  large  bow  and  ends  after  the  fash- 
ion of  our  grandmothers.  Her  eyes  were  dark  brown, 
and  yet  a  shade  Hghter  than  the  brows  and  lashes. 
Her  nose  was  not  of  classic  proportions,  being  rather 
too  broad  at  the  base  and  incUned  to  be  tip-tilted,  but 
her  mouth  had  a  generous  fulness  that  softened  a 
resolute  chin,  albeit  it  was  cleft  by  a  dimple.  Her 
long  coat  was  of  brown,  so  that  the  only  bright  colour 
about  her  was  the  vivid  glow  that  the  crisp  air  and 
walking  had  brought  to  her  cheeks. 

She  also  looked  one  straight  in  the  eyes  when  she 
spoke,  but  with  an  entire  lack  of  self- consciousness 
wholly  at  variance  with  the  attitude  of  her  friend. 
Brooke  might  be  typified  as  a  joyous  yet  shy  thrush ; 
Lucy,  as  a  splendid  but  vociferous  red-winged  black- 
bird! 

"  Is  your  mother  coming  ?  "  asked  Lucy,  as  they  went 
up  the  steps  together. 

"Later,  perhaps;  she  has  not  been  feeling  very  fes- 
tive these  few  days  past.  In  fact,  she  has  been  strangely 
spiritless  of  late ;  living  in  a  hotel  disagrees  with  her 
ideas  of  home  hospitality.  Father  seems  worried  and 
has  not  been  sleeping,  —  has  a  bit  of  a  cough,  and  any- 
thing like  that  always  upsets  dear  little  Mummy;   she 


INTERLUDE  41 

doesn't  realize  that  he  is  made  of  steel  springs  just  aS 
I  am.  I'm  sure  she  will  try  to  come,  if  only  for  a  minute, 
for  Mrs.  Parks  asked  her  to  receive  with  her.  She 
didn't  care  to  do  that  because,  though  we  met  the 
Parkses  very  often  in  Paris,  they  were  never  more  than 
acquaintances,  not  real  friends ;  but  to  stay  away  might 
hurt  her  feelings,  and  of  course  that*  must  not  be." 

"Oh,  no,  a  Brooke  of  Virginia  would  never  do  that; 
she  would  be  hospitable  to  a  burglar,  even  while  waiting 
for  the  police  to  come  for  him,  and  when  he  left,  hand- 
cuffed, regret  that  uncontrollable  circumstances  pre- 
vented his  spending  the  night !  "■  said  Lucy,  mimicking 
the  tone  and  manner  of  an  old  great-aunt  of  Brooke's 
so  thoroughly  that  she  was  forced  to  laugh. 

"But  thou,  O  most  transparent  of  all  the  Brookes, 
even  if  you  have  Scotch  granite  and  American  steel 
concealed  in  your  depths,  you  very  well  know  that 
Madame  Parks  would  have  given  many  shekels  of  gold 
to  have  had  your  mother  standing  on  her  right  this  after- 
noon. Do  you  realize  that  she  even  asked  me  to  sing 
to-day?    Of  course  I  wouldn't." 

"That  surely  was  a  compliment  to  your  voice  that  you 
can  hardly  find  fault  with,"  said  Brooke,  pausing  on 
the  threshold  to  gather  together  the  requisite  number 
of  cards. 

"My  voice  1  That  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
it.    My  voice  might  be  like  a  jay's  with  its  crop  full 


42  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

of  popcorn,  for  all  she  knows  about  it.  No,  it  was  all 
on  account  of  daddy ;  this  affair  has  been  well  thought 
out.  She  has  been  careful  to  have  a  representative 
bidden  from  every  department  of  the  society  trust, — 
clergy,  laity,  art,  music,  science.  Daddy  represents 
up-to-date  financiering,  —  there  is  no  Mrs.  Dean, 
hence  me !  She  wandered  a  bit,  though,  in  asking  me 
to  sing  on  the  same  afternoon  with  paid  professionals. 
If  it  had  been  a  very  select  and  spirituelle  affair,  with 
Maud  Knowles  at  the  harp  and  Dick  Fenton  with  his 
Boulevard  imitations  and  songs,  followed  by  bouquets 
of  orchids  conceahng  bijouterie  for  the  performers, 
I  might  have  yielded. 

"Yes,"  Lucy  chattered  on,  "  let  us  go  upstairs;  we  had 
better  drop  our  wraps,  as  we  expect  to  make  an  after- 
noon of  it.  What  an  apartment !  Madame's,  of 
course.  Look  at  that  bed  on  the  dais  and  a  boudoir 
and  breakfast  room  beyond!  Eight  maids!  Why 
didn't  she  have  four  and  twenty  to  match  the  pie  black- 
birds? Look  at  the  way  in  which  their  skirts  stay  in 
place  behind  when  they  wiggle  them.  Never  saw  such 
a  thing  off  the  stage ;  one  straight  line  from  belt  to 
hem,  just  the  stunning  way  Hilda  Spong  wears  hers  in 
*  Lady  Huntworth's  Experiment ' !  What  is  the  exhibit 
in  that  room  across  the  hall,  with  the  walls  draped 
with  white  over  sky-blue?  Everybody  is  going  that 
way;  let  us  also  flock  I 


INTERLUDE  43 

"As  I  live,  it's  the  baby  lying  in  state  —  no,  holding 
a  lev^e,  I  mean.  What  an  odd-shaped  cradle !  Isn't 
he  a  fright,  but  look  at  his  robe  —  Irish  point  all  made 
in  one  piece  —  and  his  gold  toilet  things  on  that  tray  I 
Well,  after  all,  there  must  be  something  novel  to  the 
Parkses  about  this.  Papa  has  been  married  three  times 
and  mamma  twice,  and  this  Chinese  Joss  is  all  there  is 
to  show  for  it !  I  wonder  if  her  craze  for  collecting 
bric-a-brac  can  possibly  account  for  his  looks?  If 
there  isn't  the  Senator  himself,  hovering  around  to  show 
ofiF  his  little  son.  I  wonder  if  Madame  knows  papa  is 
on  the  premises?  Gracious,  he's  taking  the  baby  out 
of  the  Easter  egg !  Hear  the  lace  tear,  and  that  monu- 
mental English  head  nurse  doesn't  move  a  muscle ! 

"Don't  look  distressed  and  blush  so,  Brooke;  facts 
are  facts,  and  then  besides,  nobody  can  hear  me  in  this 
babel.  Now,  let's  agree  where  we  shall  meet,  for  we 
shall  be  duly  torn  asunder  directly  we  go  downstairs. 
Come  in  here  a  second,  my  head  feathers  are  awry. 
What  a  mercy  it  is  to  have  hair  like  yours,  that  the  more 
it  is  let  alone,  the  better  it  behaves  1 

"No,  don't  touch  the  strings  of  your  poke,  and  leave 
your  bodice  alone.  That  creamy  lace  simply  looks  con- 
fidential and  clinging,  and  not  a  bit  mussy  Hke  mine." 

"  I  think  I  will  go  to  the  picture  gallery  as  soon  as  we 
have  made  our  bows  to  Mrs.  Parks,  and  settle  there," 
said  Brooke,  "so  that  I  can  see  everything  before  the 


44  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

concert  is  over.  Then  you  will  know  where  to  find  me. 
To-day  I  feel  more  like  looking  than  listening,"  she 
added,  when  Lucy  was  silenced  a  moment  by  holding 
half  a  dozen  jewelled  stick  pins  between  her  lips,  as  she 
rearranged  the  folds  of  an  expensive  draped  lace  bodice 
that,  in  spite  of  the  beauty  of  the  fabric,  seemed  out  of 
key  and  mussy,  the  severe  and  tailor-made  being  better 
adapted  to  her. 

For  a  few  moments  the  two  lingered  in  one  of  the 
alcoves  of  the  dressing  room,  looking  for  familiar  faces 
among  the  arrivals. 

"By  the  way,  I  suppose  Mr.  Fenton  is  coming  in  later 
with  the  other  down-town  men?"  said  Brooke.  "If 
so,  you  needn't  look  me  up  at  all." 

"Dick  may  be  coming,  though  I  doubt  it,  but  it  will 
not  be  to  meet  me.  See  here,  goosie,"  said  Lucy,  half 
avoiding  her  friend's  eyes,  "I  might  as  well  tell  you  now 
as  any  other  time.  Dick  and  I  have  agreed  to  disagree. 
It  happened  last  Sunday,  and  I'd  have  told  you  before, 
only  you  take  all  such  things  so  seriously." 

"What  is  the  matter;  has  he  changed?" 

"No,  he  has  not,  that  is  half  the  trouble.  He  has 
stayed  quite  too  much  the  same ;  I  only  wonder  that  I 
could  have  endured  it  for  the  eight  months  it  has  lasted. 
Vou  see,  he  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  himself  as  he 
was,  and  that  leaves  no  room  for  improvement.  Of 
course  everybody  knows,  at  the  pace  the  world's  rolling 


INTERLUDE  45 

along,  if  you  don't  go  ahead,  you  slide  back !  I  tend  to 
balk  and  jump  the  traces  enough  myself  when  it  comes 
to  hills,  Heaven  knows,  and  if  my  mate  in  harness 
can't  pull  true  on  an  up  grade,  where  shall  we  be  at  ? 
Dick  kept  along  on  the  level  good  naturedly,  I'll  say 
that  for  him,  yet  it  was  because  I  was  my  father's 
daughter,  not  because  I'm  myself.  Being  a  young 
broker,  he  thought  it  a  good  thing  to  have  a  father-in- 
law  with  unlimited  'pointers'  in  every  wag  of  his  chin 
(poor  chap,  he  hasn't  yet  realized  that  these  things 
mostly  point  both  ways),  and  he  was  serenely  content  I 
As  for  me,  I  felt  as  if  I  should  go  wild,  —  no  conversa- 
tion except  the  eternal  money  market.  I  said  so,  — 
and  more  besides ! 

"He  was  very  nice  about  it,  —  daddy  really  seemed 
relieved,  —  and  —  well,  it's  all  over,  though  his  mother 
did  glower  at  me  at  first  when  I  met  her  on  the  avenue 
yesterday,  but  she  decided  to  bow." 

**0h,  Lucy,  why  are  you  so  impetuous?  When  you 
told  me  of  the  engagement,  you  said — " 

"Now  listen,  Brooke  Lawton,  and  hear  me  swear  one 
thing :  money  in  one's  pocket  is  a  blessing,  but  continu- 
ally dinned  into  one's  ears  it's  the  other  thing.  If 
ever  I  marry  any  one,  he  must  not  be  in  this  sickening 
money  business;  he  must  do  something  different,  if 
it's  only  drawing  pictures  on  the  sidewalk  with  chalk 
held  between  his  toes,  like  the  armless  sailor  in  Union 


46  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Square,  though,  come  to  think  of  it,  I'd  rather  he'd 
have  arms ! 

"By  the  way,  why  don't  you  'phone  your  mother  to 
come  ?  It's  going  to  be  an  awfully  smart  party.  There's 
a  'phone  in  the  writing  room  or  somewhere  near  —  there 
always  is  one  now  at  swell  functions  for  the  use  of  guests, 
and  a  young  man  (not  a  woman  —  too  dangerous) 
from  central  to  work  it ;  they  say  the  society  reporters 
fight  and  bribe  to  get  the  job,  they  hear  so  much  'in- 
wardness.' Your  mother  needn't  worry  and  stay  at 
home.  I  don't  think  your  father's  sick.  I  heard 
daddy  say  last  night  that  he  is  in  another  big  deal,  with 
trump  cards  enough  to  fill  both  hands,  and  he's  hold- 
ing them  so  close  for  fear  of  dropping  any  that  he's 
bound  to  be  preoccupied." 

"It's  time  for  us  to  go;  I  hear  the  music,"  said 
Brooke,  who  had  been  set  thinking  by  her  friend's  talk. 

"Why  not  come  into  the  music  room  for  a  few  num- 
bers and  then  escape  if  you  wish?"  said  Lucy,  navigat- 
ing the  crowded  stairs  easily,  and  pausing  on  a  landing 
to  continue  her  chatter  and  glance  into  the  room  below. 
"What,  all  the  chairs  taken  already?  Just  look  at 
those  orchids,  by  the  dozen,  not  single,  the  whole  plant 
hung  by  gilt  chains  from  the  ceiling ! 

"You  won't  come?  Well,  so  be  it,  if  you  have  the 
'picture  hunger'  as  badly  as  you  did  in  Paris.  Do  you 
remember  the  big  hybrid  French-Enghsh-Dutchman 


INTERLUDE  47 

who  gave  that  name  to  the  moonstruck  turns  you  used 
to  have  over  painted  'masterpieces'  and  unpainted 
landscapes  outdoors?  Yes,  I  see  you  do.  Well,  I 
thought  at  one  time  he  was  painfully  smitten  and  would 
probably  lay  himself  down  humbly  at  your  feet,  Hke  an 
inconveniently  thick  bear  rug  that,  faihng  to  be  able  to 
step  over,  one  must  tread  on,  though  often  to  one's 
downfall.  Still,  of  course,  with  artists  the  meaning  of 
their  looks  and  actions  are  usually  either  exaggerated  or 
rague,  much  like  their  talk  of  values  and  colour  schemes 
and  atmosphere.  I  heard  this  same  Marte  Lorenz  in  a 
group  of  ravers  standing  before  a  canvas  one  day  at  the 
Mirlitons'  when  I  called  for  you,  and  I  rubbered  and 
peeped  over  their  shoulders,  expecting  to  see  the  portrait 
of  a  dehcious  woman  at  the  very  least ;  and  what  was 
the  whole  row  about  but  an  onion  on  a  wooden  plate, 
and  they  were  saying  that  it  was  genuine  and  showed 
insight ! 

"It  would  be  such  fun  to  tease  you,  Brooke,  if  only 
you  were  teasable.  Suppose,  after  all,  there  should  be  a 
real  live  man  behind  all  this  'picture  hunger.'  I  think 
that  there  must  be  from  the  way  you  have  turned  slack 
and  dropped  your  brush  in  seeming  disdain  at  your 
work,  even  after  you  won  that  Baumgarten  prize,  with 
the  picture  of  your  cousin  Helen's  MeUin's  food  babies 
sitting  on  the  ground  au  naturel,  eating  cherries  (pits 
and  all),  bless  their  poor  fat  tummies ! 


4B  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

"However,  there  can't  be  a  man  concealed  in  your 
mind,  you  are  too  transparent,  —  I  should  have  known 
it,  and  helped  matters  nicely  to  a  focus  for  you.  Yet  the 
copy-books  used  to  say  'still  waters  run  deep';  who 
knows,  innocent-looking  mountain  Brooke,  but  there  is 
a  great,  deep,  still  swimming  pool  somewhere  in  your 
mind! 

"  Bless  me,  she  is  teasable  after  all ! "  ejaculated  Lucy, 
for,  while  she  was  still  gabbhng,  Brooke  had  left  her, 
sUpped  through  the  portieres,  held  apart  by  two  foot- 
men, given  her  name  to  a  third,  shaken  her  hostess  cor- 
dially by  the  hand,  and  after  carefully  giving  her 
mother's  message  of  regret,  melted  away  in  the  crowd. 

"  Charming  girl,  that  Miss  Lawton,"  was  Mrs.  Parks's 
mental  comment.  "  I  guess,  after  all,  there  is  something 
in  having  a  well-bred-to-the-bone  mother.  Three  hun- 
dred people  have  squeezed  my  fingers  already  this  after- 
noon and  murmured  all  sorts  of  things,  while  they  either 
gazed  over  my  head  or  at  my  gown.  She  is  the  first  one 
that  looked  at  me  and  as  if  she  meant  what  she 
said,  or  would  really  do  me  a  good  turn  if  she  could." 
And  the  Senator's  ambitious  wife  gazed  after  Brooke 
rather  wistfully. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  PICTURE 

Escaping  from  the  ballroom,  where,  in  spite  of  all 
possible  care,  the  hothouse  heat  and  heavy  odour  of 
flowers,  together  with  the  mild  afternoon,  made  the  air 
stifling,  Brooke  was  guided  by  instinct  toward  the  picture 
gallery.  In  the  reception  hall  back  of  the  stairs,  con- 
cealed by  a  rose-covered  screen,  a  Russian  orchestra, 
the  latest  novelty,  was  playing ;  but  as  the  first  strains 
of  the  concert  floated  from  the  music  room,  the  intended 
effect  was  lost  and  became  wholly  discordant  and 
bewildering. 

Once  inside  the  doors,  for  the  picture  gallery  was 
separated  from  the  house  itself  not  only  by  a  short  pas- 
sageway, curtained  at  both  ends,  but  by  doors  of  richly 
carved  antique  oak,  Brooke  found  herself  in  another 
world,  in  which  two  more  of  the  liveried  regiment  and 
she  herself  were  the  only  inhabitants.  One  of  the  men 
took  from  a  Japanese  stand  of  bronze,  by  which  he  was 
stationed,  a  long  satin-covered  book,  that  proved  to  be 
a  catalogue  of  the  paintings  in  the  gallery.  A  photo- 
gravure of  each  one  filled  the  left-hand  page,  a  few  words 
relating  to  the  artist  facing  it. 
£  49 


so  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Mind  and  body  were  at  once  refreshed.  The  air 
itself  was  pure  and  invigorating  in  the  gallery,  for  the 
only  floral  decorations  were  conventionally  trimmed 
bushes  of  box,  European  laurel  in  pots,  and  some 
pointed  holly  trees  red  with  their  Christmas  ofifering  of 
berries.  Whatever  there  was  of  lavish  overdisplay  in 
the  other  parts  of  this  new  palace  stopped  outside  of 
these  doors.  CeiUng  and  panelled  wainscoting  that  ran 
below  the  picture  Hne  were  of  the  same  carved  oak,  the 
inlaid  floor  matching  it  in  tone,  while  all  else,  wall  hang- 
ings, divans,  and  rugs,  were  blended  of  soft  greens,  as 
harmonious  and  restful  to  the  senses  as  the  vines,  ferns, 
and  moss  that  drape  and  floor  the  forest.  The  lights 
adjusted  above  the  paintings,  with  due  regard  to  indi- 
vidual effect,  were  hidden  from  the  eye  by  screens  of 
coloured  glass,  in  which  design  of  flowers  and  leaf  were 
so  well  mingled  that  they  formed  a  part  of  the  general 
whole. 

As  to  tne  pictures  themselves  —  not  too  many,  all  in 
a  way  masterpieces  carefully  hung  —  they  seemed  vistas 
opening  through  the  greenery,  carrying  the  vision  at  once 
into  the  scene  or  among  the  people  represented.  Only 
art  could  so  feel  for  art,  and  the  fact  that  the  seeming 
simplicity  was  the  result  of  much  detailed  thought  and 
expense  was  nowhere  apparent. 

Brooke  walked  slowly  to  the  upper  end  of  the  room, 
and  seated  herself  in  one  of  the  recesses  of  an  oddly 


A  PICTURE  SI 

divided  settee,  high  of  back  and  arm,  that  gave  to  each 
occupant  complete  seclusion.  For  a  few  minutes  she 
leaned  back  against  the  soft  velvet,  letting  the  quiet 
atmosphere  envelop  her,  and  then  raised  her  eyes  to  the 
two  pictures  that  chanced  to  face  her,  peering  at  them 
in  her  seclusion,  from  under  her  wide  hat,  with  a 
sidewise  expression  of  eyes  and  hps  slightly  parted 
that  reminded  one  of  Mme.  le  Brun's  portrait  of  the 
charming  Mme.  Crussal. 

The  nearer  picture  was  a  marine,  in  which  the  Irish 
coast  and  waters  of  the  Channel  were  revealed  by  light 
of  the  fuU  moon,  and  between  the  headland  and  the  fore- 
ground the  white  gulls  were  bedding  themselves  so 
closely  that  they  made  a  second  moon  path  on  the  water. 
Back  flew  Brooke's  thoughts  across  the  sea,  —  England 
and  Holland  held  her  for  a  moment,  then  she  slipped  on 
to  France,  to  Paris,  where  for  a  year  she  had  worked  in 
Ridgeway's  studio  in  the  Rue  Malesherbes  and  out  at 
Passy,  had  been  oftentimes  elated  and  finally  cast  down. 
How  a  past  mood  can  dominate  the  present  as  well  as  all 
surroundings !  The  next  painting  was  of  a  stretch  of  low 
country  threaded  by  a  canal,  cattle  in  the  distance,  and 
shivering  poplars  bending  to  the  wind  that  scudded 
across  the  sky  in  threatening  clouds,  while  in  the  fore- 
ground a  flock  of  geese  were  looking  about  and  plum- 
ing themselves  against  the  coming  storm. 

Where  had  that  scene  passed  before  her?    "The 


52  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Coming  Storm  near  The  Hague  —  E.  Oliver  (Salon, 
1900),"  said  the  catalogue. 

"Ah!"  Brooke  exclaimed,  half  aloud.  She  remem- 
bered her  first  visit  to  the  Salon,  of  standing  before  this 
same  picture  with  Marte  Lorenz,  "the  big  hybrid 
English- Dutch-French  artist,"  Lucy  Dean  called  him, 
and  laughing  at  the  solemn,  stupid  geese,  while  he  had 
told  her  in  his  perfect,  slow  English  that  he  had  often 
driven  flocks  of  geese  to  pasture  in  his  boyhood,  also 
that  sometimes  he  had  found  them  to  be  no  laughing 
matter, — a  trifling  incident  at  the  time,  but  now  a  sort 
of  landmark  in  the  receding  journey. 

She  had  met  this  Lorenz  (Marte  his  intimates  called 
him)  often  that  winter  and  spring  on  the  easy  imper- 
sonal footing  that  prevails  between  the  well-bred  Ameri- 
can woman  and  the  art  students  of  all  countries.  He 
had  been  presented  to  her  mother  most  regularly  at  a  fdte 
in  Ridgeway's  garden  the  autumn  of  their  arrival,  and 
from  that  moment  until  their  parting,  a  year  later,  one 
thing  had  set  him  apart  from  all  the  score  of  men  with 
whom  she  had  come  in  close  contact,  men  who  bhndly 
flattered,  evaded,  or  temporized.  He  had  always  told 
her  the  truth  about  her  work.  If  she  had  not  realized  it 
at  the  time,  the  conviction  had  always  come  to  her 
sooner  or  later. 

As  to  Lorenz  himself,  once  a  pupil  of  the  Beaux 
Arts,  his  nationality  prevented  his  striving  for  the  Prix- 


A  PICTURE  53 

de-Rome,  and  he  had  turned  his  work  toward  less 
classic  lines ;  landscapes  were  his  forte,  the  figure  com- 
ing second,  and  yet  he  of  tenest  worked  at  figure-painting 
and  conventional  portraiture  also,  for  he  must  have 
money  for  the  pot-boiUng,  much  as  he  disliked  the 
necessity. 

Farther  away  slipt  the  Whirlpool  city  and  its  surround- 
ings. Once  more  was  Brooke  sketching  in  oils,  with 
some  friends  who  often  went  to  the  Carlo  Rossi  garden 
to  pose  for  each  other.  Her  subject  was  a  girl  of  the 
Boulevards,  nominally  a  flower  seller.  Successful  in 
the  drawing  and  colour,  try  as  she  might  Brooke  could 
not  give  the  touch  that  should  bring  the  Ufelike  expres- 
sion to  the  face.  With  knit  brows  she  looked  up  to  see 
whose  was  the  shadow  cast  on  the  grass  before  her.  It 
was  Lorenz,  big,  honest  fellow,  his  hands  clasped  upon 
the  back  of  the  garden  seat,  his  thatch  of  dark  hair  stick- 
ing out  over  his  deep-set  blue  eyes,  while  a  questioning 
expression  involved  in  its  uncertainty  his  straight  nose, 
his  deeply  cleft  chin,  and  the  sensitive  yet  strong  mouth 
that  separated  them.  Even  his  short-cut  mustache, 
which  accentuated  rather  than  concealed  his  lips,  ex- 
pressed doubt. 

"What  is  it,  M.  Lorenz?"  Brooke  had  asked,  smil- 
ing at  his  serious  air;  "no  one  ever  tells  me  anything 
definite  but  you.  The  master  says,  'Good!  keep  on!' 
One  friend  only  grunts;  some  one  else  says  *Pas  mal.' 


54  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

I  know  that  I  must  work,  work,  work,  but  what  do  I 
most  lack?" 

Lowering  his  eyes  almost  to  the  grass  itself,  he  spoke 
rapidly,  as  if  the  telling  was  a  pain  to  him:  "You  have 
not  yet  had  the  awakening ;  for  it  you  must  wait ;  it  is 
the  same  with  me,  but  I  may  not  dry  my  brushes  to  wait 
for  the  day,  only  work,  and  destroy,  and  work  again, 
come  good,  come  ill.  It  is  not  enough  to  block  the  form 
and  lay  on  the  colours  truly.  Unless  you  can  interpret 
your  vision  and  see  its  shadow  on  the  canvas,  watch  it 
draw  breath,  move,  and  speak  to  you,  you  can  never 
create.  But  first  of  all  you  must  know  and  feel,  even  if 
you  suffer.  How  can  you  interpret  this  woman  before 
you  ?  Never  could  you  paint  for  what  she  stands.  Try 
children,  animals,  anything  else  —  or  better,  dry  your 
brush  and  wait!" 

Brooke  had  flushed  angrily  and  answered  curtly; 
even  now  the  memory  brought  colour  to  her  cheeks. 
Only  once  again  had  she  seen  Lorenz  before  leaving,  and 
now  two  years  had  passed.  What  had  become  of  him  ? 
There  were  depths  in  this  woman's  nature  that  her 
parents,  all  devotion  in  their  different  ways,  had  never 
fathomed,  of  which  her  friends  of  every  day  had  never 
dreamed ;  and  in  one  of  these  secret  places,  all  uncon- 
scious to  herself,  this  man  had  gained  suflScient  place  at. 
least  to  bar  all  others. 

While  she  was  thus  dreaming  away  the  afternoon,  the 


A  PICTURE  55 

concert  being  ended,  the  throng  pressed  toward  the 
gallery,  and  the  confusion  of  voices,  high  in  key  and 
surging  on,  brought  Brooke  quickly  to  herself.  Rising, 
she  turned  over  the  pages  of  the  catalogue,  reading  the 
artists'  names,  and  sauntered  down  the  Une  to  where  the 
numbers  began,  nodding  occasionally,  or  saying  a  few 
words  to  friends  that  came  up;  some  of  whom  were 
stopping  to  see  the  pictures,  others  merely  noting  the 
scenic  effect  of  the  whole.  Suddenly  she  halted  so 
abruptly,  her  fingers  gripping  the  page  between  them 
with  noticeable  tension,  that  a  man  behind  nearly  fell 
over  her,  while  her  eyes  fastened  on  the  letters  that 
said,  "24:  Eucharistia.  M.  Lorenz.  1901."  Before 
she  could  read  the  details  opposite,  the  man  whom  she 
had  stopped,  Charlie  Ashton  (now  Carolus,  cousin  to 
Lucy  Dean  and  a  courtesy  artist  possessed  of  a  popular 
studio  for  concerts)  looked  over  her  shoulder  and  said :  — 

"Ah,  Miss  Lawton,  looking  for  the  picture  the  Sen- 
ator's gone  daft  about,  because  he  thinks  the  woman  in 
it  looks  like  his  wife  when  he  first  saw  her  as  a  girl  out 
in  the  California  wine  country  ?  It's  over  this  way,  that 
one  with  the  long  palm  over  the  frame.  I've  just  come 
from  there ;  everybody's  crowding  round,  guessing  what 
the  name  means.  I  suggested  making  up  a  guessing 
pool  on  it  at  five  a  head,  and  letting  the  winner  choose 
the  charity;  the  Bishop  is  having  a  shy  at  it  now." 

Brooke  steadied  herself,  and  crossing  the  room  joined 


56  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

the  group,  catching  at  first  but  a  partial  glimpse  of  the 
picture. 

"Step  back  here  by  this  holly  tree;  this  distance  is 
needed  to  preserve  the  atmosphere,"  said  Ashton,  guid- 
ing her  by  the  sleeve  into  an  alcove  formed  of  holly  and 
laurel  bushes  arranged  to  shelter  an  exquisite  ivory 
statuette  of  Diana,  the  crescent,  fillet,  and  bow  being  of 
rich  gold. 

"I  have  never  before  seen  pictures  so  well  hung," 
said  Brooke,  glancing  about  as  they  waited  for  the  crowd 
to  move  on,  as  it  soon  inevitably  would,  toward  the 
banquet  hall. 

"A  well-placed  remark.  Miss  Brooke,  sent  straight 
home,"  gurgled  Ashton,  plucking  at  his  collar,  which 
was  too  tight  for  his  short  neck.  "  I  may  say  that  I  vir- 
tually hung  these  pictures,  for  I  sent  the  Senator  the  man 
who  did,  you  know.  Before  I  forget  it,  the  Bagby  girls 
and  the  rest  asked  me  to  see  you  about  arranging  a  bene- 
fit concert  for  that  pretty  httle  Juha  Garth,  —  used  to 
give  such  stunning  musicales  a  year  ago,  —  now  old 
Garth  is  dead,  and  they've  gone  to  no-put-together 
smash!  Yes,  not  a  cent!  I've  offered  my  studio  for  it, 
and  they  thought  perhaps  you'd  give  a  picture  to  raffle, 
—  just  any  little  thing  you've  thrown  off  in  a  hurry  will 
do." 

His  words  passed  almost  unheard,  for  while  he  was 
speaking  the  crowd  parted  and  the  entire  painting  became 


A  PICTURE  57 

visible.  Brooke,  leaning  forward,  at  first  flushed,  then 
grew  white  to  the  lips.  The  scene  set  before  her  was  a 
bit  in  the  depths  of  the  park  at  Fontainebleau.  A  grassy 
path  melted  away  in  the  distance  betv/een  great  sombre 
oaks  that  strengthened  as  they  reached  the  foreground. 
At  the  foot  of  one  of  these  sat  a  man,  an  artist,  who  had 
been  sketching,  for  his  implements  lay  on  the  sward 
before  him.  His  whole  position  was  of  dejection,  except 
the  head,  which  was  raised  in  a  startled  attitude.  A 
little  behind  him  stood  a  young  woman,  clad  in  the 
dainty  summer  dress  of  every  day,  ash-brown  hair  loosely 
caught  up  beneath  a  simple  hat,  paint  box  and  luncheon 
basket  slung  from  her  shoulder.  One  hand  rested  on 
the  gnarled  oak  trunk,  the  other,  reaching  across  his 
shoulder,  dropped  into  the  man's  idle,  listless  hands  a 
bunch  of  golden  grapes,  that  in  their  ripeness  carried 
sunlight  with  them.  Graceful  and  charming  as  was  the 
composition,  it  was  the  handling  of  the  light  wherein  the 
magic  lay.  Sifting  down  between  the  leaves,  the  glow 
of  early  afternoon  hovered  about  the  girl's  bent  head 
like  a  halo,  and  passing  behind,  fell  upon  the  man's  up- 
turned face,  transfiguring  it  with  a  sort  of  holy  joy,  then 
focussed  and  was  swallowed  in  the  bunch  of  grapes. 

A  voice  seemed  calling  in  Brooke's  ears:  "The  last 
afternoon,  when  you  all  went  sketching  with  the  master, 
and  after  lunching  in  the  woods  you  overtook  the 
brotherhood  of  Clichy  (as  Lorenz's  coterie  was  called). 


58  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Farther  on  and  apart  you  found  him  alone,  with  head 
bent.  You  thought  he  was  asleep  and  dropped  the 
cool  grapes  in  his  hands,  half  as  a  trick,  darting  away 
again.  Then  good  Madame  Druz,  the  chaperon  of 
the  day,  coming  up,  scolded  you  for  'American  im- 
prudence,' and  finally  that  night  you  cried,  half  at  her 
vulgar  interpretation  of  a  harmless  act,  and  half  because 
Lorenz  never  gave  word  or  sign  before  your  leaving. 
And  because  not  a  single  flower  of  the  mass  that  filled 
your  railway  carriage  was  from  him,  you  let  Lucy 
amuse  herself  all  the  way  to  Cherbourg  by  pelting 
ofiicials  with  them  at  each  station  passed.  He  has 
painted  you  as  you  were!"  cried  the  voice;  "his  face  is 
as  he  might  wish  it  to  be." 

It  required  an  effort  on  Brooke's  part  not  to  cry  out, 
**Hush!  speak  lower!"  so  real  did  the  words  seem. 

"  Good  work,  isn't  it  ? — though  half  a  dozen  of  us  here 
at  home  could  do  as  well,  if  we  had  the  atmosphere,  you 
know,"  said  Ashton's  voice,  sounding  through  the  rush 
of  waters  that  filled  her  ears.  "  The  Senator  boasts  that 
he  was  the  first  to  recognize  the  artist  whom  every  one 
now  applauds,  and  he  paid  a  cool  ten  thousand  for  it, 
the  man's  first  important  picture  at  that!  The  old  man 
saw  it  in  the  new  Salon,  but  it  wasn't  for  sale.  '  No,  no, 
no,'  said  the  artist, — *  he  had  a  superstition,  a  sentiment, 
a  desire  to  keep  it,' — but  the  Senator  thought  'Yes, 
yes,  yes,   the  desire  wiU  decrease  with  time  and  — 


A  PICTURE  59 

money,'  and  so  it  did,  for  this  fall,  just  as  the  Parkses  were 
on  the  verge  of  leaving,  the  Senator  doubled  the  first 
offer  and  Lorenz  capitulated.  Then,  before  the  *  brother- 
hood' could  borrow  his  'luck  penny'  he  disappeared 
somewhere  in  Normandy,  they  say,  to  study,  out  of  the 
depressing  sound  of  the  pot-boiling  of  the  Quarter. 
Half  his  friends  were  glad,  Ridgeway  wrote  me,  and  the 
other  half,  being  jealous,  shrugged  their  shoulders  and 
raised  their  eyes,  groaning,  'Another  mad  American!' 

"I  have  it  all  down  fine,  you  see,  for  the  papers  to- 
morrow,—  great  scheme !  I  had  a  Harvard  chum  that 
was,  Tom  Brownell,  who  won't  go  the  respectable  pace 
his  father  set  for  him  in  finance,  and  has  turned  re- 
porter, work  it  up.  He  wants  news,  and,  plague  it,  it 
must  be  true  or  he  won't  touch  it.  Of  course  I  don't 
appear  in  it,  but  all  the  credit  is  socially  mine,  you  see. 

"Why,  come  to  think  of  it.  Miss  Brooke,  I  believe 
the  girl  looks  a  bit  hke  you!  Did  you  ever  chance  to 
see  this  man?  But  then,  of  course,  so  many  charming 
women  look  ahke  in  those  stunning  shirt-waist  things, 
you  know.     What  do  you  make  of  the  name  ?" 

Brooke  wished  that  he  might  babble  on  as  long  as 
possible,  that  she  might  learn  the  painting  by  heart  and 
try  to  fathom  the  peculiarity  of  the  shaft  of  light,  but 
as  he  stopped  she  said,  almost  without  thought,  "Eu- 
charistia!  why  may  it  not  be  the  girl's  name?" 

"By  Jove !  of  course,  we  never  thought  of  it  1"   said 


6o  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Ashton.  "You're  growing  quite  pale  from  standing  so 
long.  You  must  have  some  punch.  Do  let  me  take 
you  to  the  banquet  hall ;  it's  jolly  nice  there  —  all  small 
tables  and  souvenir  menus  in  silver  frames.  I  planned 
them,  too,  though  Tiffany's  name  is  on  them.  There's 
Cousin  Lucy,  and  the  Bagby  girls  are  waving  to  you 
now."  ("Yes,  we're  under  way,  hold  a  table,"  he  sig- 
nalled.) "We  can  cook  up  the  concert  while  we  feed,'* 
and  offering  his  arm,  upon  which  Brooke  laid  her  hand 
gratefully,  for  she  felt  a  sudden  weariness,  he  led  her 
through  the  maze  of  skirts  and  furniture  aS  skilfully 
and  rapidly  as  if  he  had  been  her  partner  in  the  cotillon, 
and  seated  her  at  one  of  the  little  tables  amid  a  bevy  of 
her  friends,  who  were  discussing  the  house,  the  hostess, 
the  flowers,  the  menus,  and  the  fallen  fortunes  of  poor 
JuUa  Garth  in  a  most  impartial  way,  and  at  the  top 
of  their  voices. 

"Of  course  it's  awful  to  suddenly  drop  from  having 
your  gowns  from  Paris,  a  maid,  a  private  turnout,  and 
keeping  open  house  —  or  rather  houses  —  and  all  that, 
to  a  flat  somewhere  in  Brooklyn,  with  a  sick  mother,  and 
trying  to  work  off  your  music  for  a  living,"  said  one  shrill 
voice;  "but  then  it  is  an  awful  bore,  too,  for  us  to  have 
her  on  our  minds.  TJiis  concert  is  only  the  beginning, 
I  suppose." 

"Julia  plays  delightfully,  and  we  all  have  more  or 
less  chamber  music  during  the  winter,  and  one  of  us 


A  PICTURE  6i 

might  take  her  to  Lenox  or  Newport  this  summer," 
said  another,  in  a  reproving  tone;  "and  then  among  us 
all  there  are  plenty  of  children  for  her  to  teach." 

"If  she  plays  and  sings  for  us  all  winter,  that  is  suf- 
jScient  reason  why  we  shall  be  sick  of  her  next  summer," 
said  the  first  voice.  "You  know  how  it  was  with  Mrs. 
Darcey  Binks  and  her  Creole  songs.  We  thought  we 
could  not  get  enough  of  her.  She  thought  she  was 
settled  here  for  life,  and  biff!  the  Spanish  mandolin 
players  knocked  her  out  the  second  season.  As  for 
lessons,  if  you  take  up  some  one  half  out  of  charity,  and 
then  go  South  in  the  middle  of  a  term,  they  will  always 
whine  about  it,  and  you  feel  mean;  a  professional  can 
take  care  of  herself  and  always  gets  even,  but  doesn't 
let  you  know  it." 

"I  wish  we  could  think  of  something  newer  than  a 
concert,  that  would  make  a  hit  and  a  pot  of  money," 
said  Lucy  Dean,  not  bragging  of  the  fact  that  she  had 
already  asked  Julia  Garth  to  come  and  live  with  her, 
and  been  refused  kindly  but  firmly.  "What  can  you 
suggest,  Brooke?  you  are  always  overflowing  with 
ideas,  even  if  some  of  them  are  too  good  for  this  world." 

Brooke,  thus  challenged,  half  rose  in  her  chair  so  that 
she  faced  both  tables,  and  said:  "I  do  not  believe  in 
offering  Julia  what  she  would  accept  as  work  and  you 
consider  as  charity;  it  is  false  pretence  on  both  sides! 
We  can  easily  make  up  a  Christmas  purse  for  her  among 


62  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

ourselves,  without  giving  her  the  pain  of  the  advertising 
of  a  benefit  concert,  and  all  the  talk  of  it.  Then  when 
she  has  a  chance  to  know  where  she  stands,  —  her 
father  only  died  a  month  ago,  poor  child,  —  I  will  get 
my  father  or  yours"  (motioning  to  Lucy)  "to  give  her 
real  work  for  real  pay,  and  with  no  charitable  tag  hang- 
ing to  it.  She  has  kept  household  accounts  and  some- 
times been  her  father's  private  secretary.  I  saw  her 
last  week,  and  what  she  wants  and  is  able  to  do  is  real 
work  and  plenty  of  it  to  make  her  forget,  not  charity 
coddhng  to  make  her  remember." 

"Mercy  on  me!  don't  cut  us  up  like  cheese  sand- 
wiches, with  your  sarcasm!"  ejaculated  Lucy,  "and 
clutch  that  chair  so,  as  if  you  had  claws.  Your  eyes 
remind  me  of  a  hawk  that  perches  in  a  cage  over  in  the 
park  opposite  my  window,  and  glares  all  day  long  at  the 
silly  sparrows  outside!" 

Brooke  laughed,  and  the  dangerous  flash  in  her  eyes 
dying  out  again,  she  turned  to  her  plate  of  salad  and 
the  general  gossip  of  the  day,  but  a  red  spot  still  glowed 
in  the  middle  of  each  cheek.  A  few  minutes  later  she 
might  have  been  seen  driving  down  the  avenue  in  her 
mother's  brougham,  trying  to  decipher,  by  the  light  of 
the  electric  street  lamps,  some  printing  in  the  silk- 
covered  catalogue. 

This  is  what  she  read:  "Marte  Lorenz,  bom  at  his 
uncle's  tulip  farm  near  Haarlem,  in  1872.     Educated 


A  PICTURE       '  63 

in  England,  where  his  father  had  been  a  merchant. 
Studied  at  the  Amsterdam  Art  School,  going  afterward 
to  Paris,  where  his  countryman,  Israels,  befriended  him. 
A  hard  student,  but  the  picture  'Eucharistia'  is  his 
first  important  work,  while  European  critics  and  his 
masters  beheve  it  is  the  beginning  of  a  great  career. 
At  present  he  is  Uving  in  seclusion  in  Normandy,  fol- 
lowing his  art." 

Ashton,  the  useful,  had  patched  up  the  biographies 
in  the  little  book,  helter-skelter,  but  Brooke  did  not  know 
it,  and  tucking  the  catalogue  carefully  into  her  great 
muflf,  she  leaned  back  and  closed  her  eyes. 

It  was  her  portrait  that  Lorenz  had  painted,  together 
with  his  own,  whatever  the  mystic  word  "Eucha- 
ristia"  might  mean.  He  had  not  forgotten  her,  then, 
and  he  was  loath  to  part  with  the  picture.  She  did  not 
formulate  the  pleasure  the  thought  gave  her,  —  it  was 
enough  in  itself. 

Then  the  brougham  stopped  before  the  blazing  lights 
of  the  St.  Hilaire,  where  the  Lawtons  were  making  a 
temporary  home,  a  sort  of  bridge,  that  both  mother  and 
daughter  had  long  wearied  of,  between  the  simpler  past 
and  the  long-delayed,  complex  future,  when  in  the  new 
house,  now  building,  her  father  promised  once  and  for 
all  to  drop  the  reins  of  tape  and  wire,  cease  from  hurry- 
ing, and  take  rest. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  LAWTONS 

With  Mrs.  Lawton  the  afternoon  of  the  Park 
musical  had  been  a  time  of  irresolution.  When  the 
man  of  a  family  is  noted  for  swift  arbitrary  decisions 
and  often  unexplained  action  in  all  domestic  affairs, 
in  important  matters  and  petty  details  alike,  his  wife 
is  apt,  simply  by  force  of  reaction,  to  be  driven  to  the 
opposite  extreme  in  those  things  that  concern  herself 
alone.  Not  that  Adam  Lawton's  wife  had  ever  been 
lacking  in  spirit,  and  when,  as  Pamela  Brooke,  a  girl  of 
twenty,  he  had  taken  her  from  her  southern  plantation 
home,  then  crippled  and  impoverished  by  war,  yet 
where  she  still  held  absolute  sway,  many  nodded  their 
heads,  and  said  that  the  calculating,  keen-eyed  Yankee 
would  some  day  be  startled  by  the  fire  of  southern 
blood. 

Not  but  what  his  coming,  seeing,  and  conquering 
had  been  as  swift  as  the  most  romantic  could  desire, 
one  short  month  compassing  it  all,  for  there  was  a 
certain  magnetism  about  Adam  Lawton  that,  when 
he  chose  to  exert  it,  was  irresistible,  while   to   those 

64 


THE  LAWTONS  65 

outside  its  influence  he  was  doubly  a  bit  of  chilling 
steel. 

Nor  had  his  wife  ever  faltered  in  her  loyalty  to  him ; 
she  would  have  given  much  more  than  he  would  take, 
for  in  the  beginning  hers  had  been  a  nature  that  sought 
happiness  in  pouring  out  her  love  freely  and  enveloping 
its  object  in  it,  at  the  same  time  giving  the  man  she  had 
chosen,  through  imagination,  every  noble  and  winning 
attribute  that  would  increase  her  passion. 

Two  sons  had  been  bom  to  her  before  she  had 
awakened  from  this  ecstatic  period  and  was  perforce 
obhged  to  separate  the  real  from  the  ideal.  Not  that 
Adam  Lawton  loved  her  a  degree  less  strongly  than 
when,  caUing  upon  her  father  on  purely  business 
matters,  he  had  first  seen  her  riding  up  the  unkempt 
avenue  of  her  home,  her  beauty  and  bearing  lending 
distinction  to  the  faded  habit  that  she  wore.  His 
love  was  of  a  strange  quahty,  a  sort  of  transmutation 
of  metals  by  sudden  fire  that,  having  once  taken  place, 
must  of  necessity  be  welded  for  all  time.  In  reality 
an  egotist,  from  his  own  point  of  view  he  was  wholly  un- 
selfish, for  he  asked  Httle  for  what  he  gave,  and  would 
allow  none  of  the  little  daily  services  that  nourish  love, 
whose  best  food  must  have  the  flavour  of  mutual 
dependence. 

The  two  boys  died  of  scarlet  fever  almost  together, 
before  they  were  well  out  of  babyhood,  and  after  a 


66  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

lapse  of  many  years  a  daughter,  Brooke,  had  come, 
then  another  lapse,  and  another  son,  called  Adam, 
now  about  sixteen;  and  like  many  a  son  of  a  father 
who  has  planned  a  boy's  career  to  the  minutest  detail, 
he  seemed  not  only  bound  not  to  go  in  the  desired  way, 
but  to  lack  the  bump  of  direction,  which  turns  a  boy 
from  being  merely  driftwood  and  guides  him  in  any  sort 
of  way  whatsoever. 

From  habitual  restraint  of  emotions  learned  in  those 
first  ten  years,  Mrs.  Lawton  had  come  to  pass  for 
a  perfectly  bred,  though  somewhat  unsympathetic, 
woman. 

Brooke,  whose  own  heart  naturally  beat  as  tumul- 
tuously  as  ever  did  her  mother's,  had  learned  to  feel 
something  of  this  even  in  her  early  childhood,  when 
at  her  father's  footstep  she  had  been  hushed  in  some 
wild  exhibition  of  childish  enthusiasm;  and  though 
she  and  her  mother  were  the  very  best  of  friends,  there 
was  a  certain  quality  missing  in  their  intercourse. 
Perhaps  missing  is  not  the  word,  —  a  quality  not  yet 
developed  expresses  it  more  exactly,  and  this,  too, 
came  through  the  peculiar  temperament  of  Adam 
Lawton  himself.  Outside  of  his  business  he  had 
but  one  thought,  his  family,  and  to  supply  their  needs 
as  he  read  them,  his  selfishness  lying  in  the  fact  that 
he  asked  so  Httle  of  them,  beyond  their  presence  in 
his  house,  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  judge,  by 


THE  LAWTONS  67 

intimate  contact,  what  those  needs  really  were,  or  to 
reaUze  that  confidence  and  sympathy  are  better  coin 
than  dollars. 

Brooke  alone  had  been  able  to  break  through  this 
crust  of  self-sufficiency  that  he  had  used  as  a  barrier 
against  the  world  in  his  early  days  of  struggle,  until 
it  now  shut  him  off  from  the  luxury  of  everything 
natural,  uncalculated,  and  spontaneous.  Brooke  had 
enough  of  the  enthusiasm  of  youth  not  to  be  chilled 
by  it.  She  looked  forward  hopefully  to  the  promised 
time  when  he  should  take  a  long  hohday,  and  be  with 
them,  and,  as  she  explained  it,  only  "think  fooUshness." 
He  had  never  refused  her  anything  that  she  asked  of 
him,  not  that  her  wishes  had  ever  been  extravagant. 
Many  a  time,  as  some  clever  whim  of  hers  brought  a 
rare  smile  to  his  keen,  thin  face,  intelligent  and  ahve, 
if  somewhat  harshly  lined  and  worn,  he  almost  cUnched 
the  hand  that  he  always  kept  in  his  left  pocket  in  de- 
spair that  this  child  was  not  the  boy  who  should 
keep  his  name  alive,  instead  of  that  other  who  now 
bore  it.  But  in  the  fact  that  Brooke  was  a  daughter 
lay  all  the  charm,  for  there  is  no  other  bom  relationship 
so  subtle,  so  potent  of  good  for  each,  as  that  between 
father  and  daughter. 

For  many  years  the  Lawtons  lived  in  an  ample  old- 
fashioned  house  in  one  of  the  streets  converging  at 
Washington  Square,  where  Brooke  and  young  Adam 


68  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

had  been  born.  Here  Mrs.  Lawton  had  passed  many 
days  of  quiet  content  and  social  comfort,  entertaining 
in  the  open-hearted  southern  way  that  does  not  admit 
of  push  or  hurry.  True,  the  neighbourhood  was  chang- 
ing, and  others  more  ambitious  were  moving  away; 
in  fact,  Adam  Lawton  had  one  day  said  the  time  had 
come  when  he  was  ready  to  build  a  modern  house, 
in  a  part  of  the  city  where  a  home  more  suited  to  his 
position  and  a  good  investment  could  be  combined, 
for  with  him  the  two  propositions  always  went  together. 
Mrs.  Lawton  had  sighed,  but  said  nothing.  She 
loved  the  wide,  sunny  house,  with  its  colonial  mantels 
and  irregular  staircase,  and  secretly  she  hoped  that 
no  one  would  buy  it.  Faint  hope,  for  in  a  week  from 
the  day  the  matter  was  broached,  Adam  Lawton 
announced  that  the  house  was  sold.  A  business 
building  had  purchased  the  adjoining  property  and 
virtually  gave  him  his  price.  They  could  live  in  an 
apartment  hotel  pending  the  building  of  the  new  house. 
It  would  give  his  wife  a  rest,  for  he  was  beginning  to 
notice  that  she  was  looking  rather  worn,  and  did  not 
attribute  it  to  the  real  cause  or  the  flight  of  years,  but 
to  some  extraneous  reason  that  that  most  dubious  of 
all  acts,  "  a  change, "  might  overcome.  So  Mrs.  Lawton 
v/as  spending  her  second  winter  at  the  St.  Hilaire, 
living  apart  from  her  own  Hfe,  as  it  were.  True,  she 
had  been  listless  and  not  very  well  of  late,  but  it  was 


THE  LAWTONS  69 

more  from  inertia  than  any  constitutional  weakness. 
No  one  could  expect  to  keep  for  thirty  years  the  radiant 
type  of  blonde  beauty  with  which  Pamela  Brooke 
had  glowed  at  twenty.  Mrs.  Lawton  was  still  in  a 
sense  a  beautiful  woman,  but  the  vivacity  that  often 
outlives  freshness  of  tint  and  distinctiveness  of  feature 
had  died  first  of  all.  Her  charm  lay  in  a  certain  re- 
finement of  outline;  colour  and  features  had  grown 
dim  as  the  reflection  of  a  face  in  a  mirror  blurred  by 
dust,  and  her  mass  of  waving  golden  brown  hair,  that 
in  its  lights  and  shades  had  once  surpassed  even 
Brooke's,  was  of  a  clear  white,  as  of  the  days  of  powder, 
and  gave  the  dehcate  features  an  almost  dramatic 
setting. 

As  Adam  Lawton  grew  more  and  more  absorbed  in 
finance,  he  was  the  more  exacting  of  her  presence 
during  the  evening  hours,  when,  too  absorbed  to  either 
go  out  or  bid  friends  come  to  him,  he  sat  in  his  simply 
furnished  den,  for  all  luxury  stopped  at  his  door,  and 
pored  over  papers,  letters,  and  maps,  scarcely  glancing 
up  or  speaking  to  his  wife  twice  in  the  evening,  yet 
expecting  her  presence  and  conscious  if  she  left  him 
for  a  moment. 

When  Brooke  had  started  on  this  particular  winter 
ar  •^moon  for  the  Parkses'  musicale,  in  company  with  her 
friend,  Lucy  Dean,  Mrs.  Lawton  had  quite  decided 


70  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

not  to  go.  Her  husband  had  been  unusually  silent 
for  the  few  days  past,  and  had  said  something  about 
possibly  coming  home  in  time  to  drive  up  to  the  new 
house,  which  was  yet  uncompleted,  owing  to  the  build- 
ing strike  of  the  past  summer. 

But  as  the  eariy  twiUght  came  on  and  he  did  not 
appear,  she  grew  restless,  and  knowing  that  it  was  too 
late  for  the  proposed  drive,  quickly  determined  to  go 
to  the  Parkses'  for  a  little  while  and  return  with  Brooke. 
Going  to  her  lounging  room  to  call  the  carriage  by 
telephone,  for  she  had  an  entirely  separate  wire  from 
the  private  service  at  her  husband's  desk,  she  found 
several  letters  lying  upon  the  table.  Exclaiming  at 
the  carelessness  of  the  maids,  of  whom  two  were  kept 
for  service  of  meals,  etc.,  in  the  apartment,  she  looked 
at  the  addresses,  and  the  handwriting  on  the  last  put 
the  thought  of  going  out  from  her  mind. 

Four  were  in  the  handwriting  of  private  secretaries, 
and  promised  social  invitations;  the  fifth,  addressed 
in  the  shaded  pin-point  writing  of  the  seminary  of 
thirty  years  ago,  was  postmarked  Gilead;  while  the 
sixth  was  in  the  rough  and  painfully  unformed  hand  of 
Adam,  "the  Cub,"  as  his  friends  called  him,  her  only 
living  son,  now  at  a  mihtary  school  some  sixty  miles 
away. 

It  was  impossible  to  deny  that  the  Cub  was  behind- 
hand in  his  work,  and  that,  instead  of  being  within  two 


THE  LAWTONS  71 

years  of  college,  according  to  his  father's  schedule, 
he  was  Httle  more  than  in  sight  of  it ;  but  her  mother's 
heart  told  her  that  the  rigidity  of  his  father's  methods 
was  quite  as  much  to  blame  as  her  son's  stupidity. 
Coming  of  ancestors  whose  training  on  both  sides  had 
been  for  and  of  the  out-of-door  hfe,  the  forcing  system 
of  surveillance  under  which  he  had  Uved,  summer  and 
winter  alike,  since  his  eleventh  year,  had  developed 
only  the  evil  in  him. 

Vainly  she  had  suggested,  nay  almost  fought,  to 
have  him  sent  to  a  famous  ranch  school,  where  the 
sons  of  several  of  her  friends  had  learned  self-reUance 
and  books  at  one  and  the  same  time.  Adam  Lawton 
would  not  hear  of  it,  saying  the  dangers  of  the  Hfe  and 
the  distance  were  too  great. 

In  Brooke  his  measure  of  fatherly  affection  was 
complete  and  satisfied,  and  that  she  should  never 
put  her  hand  in  an  empty  pocket  his  chief  desire ;  but 
still  all  his  hopes  of  the  future  of  his  race  theoretically 
centred  in  this  only  son,  as  in  an  asset  of  both  flesh 
and  money,  and  every  hair  of  his  tawny  head  and 
freckle  on  his  face  was  more  precious  than  his  own 
life-blood ;  yet  he  had  the  narrowness  of  the  self-made 
man,  the  financier  in  particular,  and  he  could  see  honour 
and  success  in  one  path  only  —  that  in  which  he  him- 
self had  trodden. 

Adam  Lawton  senior,  now  halfway  between  sixty 


72  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

and  seventy,  though  he  did  not  allow  it  even  to  himself, 
often  felt  the  lack  of  academic  knov^^ledge,  and  there- 
fore Adam  junior  must  undergo  a  certain  polishing 
system  perforce,  even  if  the  substance  to  be  polished 
lost  its  identity  and  crumbled  to  chalk  in  the  process. 
For  only  two  things  had  Adam  evinced  any  liking,  — 
for  out-of-door  life  and  a  horse,  while  his  backwardness 
with  his  lessons  had  cut  off  these  outlets  by  keeping 
him  at  school  or  under  tutelage  the  entire  season 
through. 

If  Adam  Lawton  loved  his  son  as  a  matter  of  heredity, 
Pamela  Lawton  loved  him  as  a  human  being,  as  her 
baby,  and  her  maternal  passion  gained  fierceness  by 
repression.  The  letter  was  an  appeal  for  permission 
to  go  home,  and  contained  a  doctor's  certificate  saying 
that  the  boy  had,  in  his  opinion,  outgrown  his  strength, 
and  needed  several  months  of  outdoor  life,  etc.,  etc. 
Mrs.  Lawton  crushed  the.  paper  in  her  hand.  The 
last  time  such  a  missive  had  been  received  it  had 
resulted  in  the  Cub's  being  sent  to  travel  with  a  tutor. 
One  human  being  the  boy  did  love,  and  that  was 
herself,  —  he  must  have  her  care  now  or  never ! 

Without  reahzing  that  the  hotel  was  no  place  for  the 
boy,  or  what  the  result  might  be,  she  went  to  her  desk, 
wrote  a  few  emphatic  words,  enclosed  a  ten-dollar  bill 
in  the  envelope  (it  chanced  to  be  the  last  money  in  her 
purse),  and,  quickly  putting  on  coat  and  bonnet,  took 


THE  LAWTONS  73 

it  herself  to  the  post-box  on  the  street  comer,  not  trust- 
ing it  to  the  hotel  box ;  then  she  returned  to  her  room 
with  flushed  cheeks,  feeling  as  guilty  as  a  girl  sHpping 
out  with  a  love-letter  instead  of  a  mother  daring  to 
tell  her  own  son  to  come  home.  At  that  moment 
she  fairly  hated  the  motiveless  comfort  by  which  she 
was  surrounded ;  passivity  had  become  almost  a  disease, 
she  must  shake  it  off;  she  would  speak  that  night, 
and  have  an  understanding  about  the  Cub,  no  matter 
how  busy  her  husband  might  be. 

When  she  had  laid  aside  her  things,  no  maid  yet 
appearing,  the  Gilead  letter  claimed  her  attention, 
and  she  was  soon  absorbed  in  it.  It  told  of  Keith's 
resolution  to  go  to  Boston,  and  gave  an  inventory 
of  the  property  on  the  farm  that  had  been  bought 
with    Adam    Lawton's    money. 

She  had  also,  she  said,  written  for  instructions  as  to 
its  future  care;  would  he  take  charge,  or  should  she 
look  for  some  suitable  person  in  the  neighbourhood? 
Receiving  no  answer,  and  judging  that  the  letter  had 
either  been  lost,  or  else  that  her  cousin  had  been  too 
busy  to  consider  it,  Miss  Keith  had  made  a  second 
careful  copy  and  enclosed  it  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Lawton, 
saying  that  time  pressed,  and  she  must  rely  upon  her 
to  "jog"  Cousin  Adam's  memory,  or  perhaps,  as  the 
farm  at  least  stood  in  Brooke's  name,  that  she  might 
have  some  wishes  in  the  matter. 


74  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Mrs.  Lawton  had  almost  finished  reading  the  in- 
ventory of  simple  furnishings,  etc.,  when  Brooke 
entered.  Her  mother  at  once  noticed  a  strange  expres- 
sion in  her  always  candid  features,  and  a  new  light 
in  her  wide-open  eyes;  but  the  letters  in  her  lap 
caught  Brooke's  attention,  and  after  she  had  given 
a  brief  history  of  the  doings  of  the  afternoon,  the  two 
women,  seated  side  by  side,  bent  their  heads  over  the 
Cub's  epistle,  though  the  elder  already  knew  it  by 
heart,  word  for  word. 

"The  poor,  poor  Cub!"  ejaculated  Brooke  at  last, 
half  laughing,  and  then  stopping  short,  for  looking 
up,  she  saw  tears  trembling  on  her  mother's  lashes. 
"If  it  were  only  long  ago,  we  would  buy  him  a  horse, 
and  spear,  and  shield,  and  smuggle  him  outside  the 
castle  walls  at  night,  and  let  him  gallop  away  to  seek 
his  own  fortunes.  Do  you  know,  little  mother,  that, 
in  spite  of  all  the  liberty  I  have,  and  money  in  my 
pocket  without  the  asking,  I  sometimes  feel  choked 
and  tied  down  Hke  this  bad  boy  of  ours?  It  was  only 
an  hour  ago,  when  I  was  sitting  in  that  beautiful 
picture  gallery,  that  it  came  over  me  how  so  many 
of  the  things  we  do  every  day  seem  unreal  and  like  a 
useless  dream.  We  ourselves  arrange  or  else  blindly 
submit  to  customs  that  keep  us  apart  instead  of  bring- 
ing those  who  love  each  other  together,  until  life  gets 
to  be  hke   those  stupid  gas  fire-logs  yonder,  all  for 


THE  LAWTONS  75 

show  —  a  little  feverish  heat  and  imwholesomeness 
as  a  result  instead  of  the  true  thing,  though  to  be  sure 
real  logs  are  more  trouble  and  a  greater  responsibility 
to  tend. 

"I  want  to  be  something  more  than  furniture  in 
our  new  home,  if  it  is  ever  finished,  and  we  succeed 
in  getting  out  of  what  Lucy  Dean  calls  this  'elabo- 
rated parlour-car  method  of  living.'  Yes,  mother, 
I'm  getting  what  you  call  a  restless  streak  again.  I 
think  I'm  going  to  pick  up  my  brushes"  —  and  then 
a  serious,  almost  sad  expression  crossed  her  face  as 
she  added,  "if  they  will  let  me." 

"So  Cousin  Keith's  going  away,  —  going  to  be  mar- 
ried !  I  wish  she  could  have  done  the  second  without 
the  first.  I  like  to  think  of  her  at  the  farm  just  as 
she  used  to  be.  You  know  it's  my  farm  now,  and 
I've  always  planned  to  go  back  there  some  summer, 
and  really  work,  for  if  anything  could  put  life  in  my 
brush,  it  would  be  to  live  in  my  *  River  Kingdom.'  I'd 
much  rather  do  that  than  have  a  large  country  place, 
such  as  father  plans,  though  of  course  Gilead  is  too  quiet 
and  out  of  touch  with  things  for  him,  and  the  farm 
is  too  small  a  bit  for  his  energy  to  work  upon.  Cousin 
Keith  has  been  very  thrifty,  —  *  five  cows,  a  farm 
horse,  chickens,  ducks,  seed  potatoes,  cordwood,  etc.,* 
(all  mine,  too,  because  the  deed  says  'inclusive  of  all 
live  stock,  and  furnishings').    Last  of   all    she    lists 


76  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

*  Tatters,  the  family  dog,  whose  race  has  been  on  the 
soil  as  long  as  we  ourselves ;  if  he  can't  transfer  him- 
self to  the  newcomers  not  of  the  name.  Dr.  Russell 
has  promised  to  take  him  down  to  Oaklands.  Please 
understand.  Cousin  Pamela,  that  Tatters  doesn't 
rank  with  live  stock,  —  he  is  a  person,  and  must  be 
treated  as  such!'" 

"Tatters!"  repeated  Brooke,  looking  involuntarily 
at  the  artificial  fire,  so  surely  does  visible  heat  draw  the 
outward  eye  when  the  mind's  eye  is  a-roving.  "That 
was  the  name  of  one  of  the  dogs  they  had  that  autumn 
when  I  spent  that  lovely  month  there,  and  played  at 
gypsy  every  day.  But  he  must  be  very,  very  old 
now.  Yes,  you  shall  be  well  treated,  old  fellow,  and 
not  'transferred'  to  anything  or  anybody  against  your 
will. 

"Mother,  do  you  know  I  think  that  if  only  Cousin 
Keith  were  not  going  away,  it  would  be  a  fine  thing 
to  send  the  Cub  to  Gilead  for  a  while,  until  he  pulled 
himself  together,  and  then  some  not  overzealous 
tutor  with  a  fondnss  for  walking  might  be  found  for 
him. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Brooke,  reading  the  confusion 
in  her  mother's  face.  "You  have  answered  him 
already  and  told  him  that  he  may  come?  Good! 
now  we  will  act  together.  You  take  father  quite 
too  seriously ;  if  he  really  understood  just  what  we  both 


THE  LAWTONS  77 

wish  to  do  and  be,  I'm  sure  that  he  would  be  the  last 
one  to  hinder  either,  but  we  haven't  let  him  see.  How 
can  a  man  who  has  lived  his  own  life  so  long  possibly 
imderstand  women  unless  they  give  him  the  clew,  and 
whisper  'hot'  and  'cold'  when  he  gets  off  the  track? 

"No  one,  since  ever  I  can  remember,  has  been 
allowed  to  let  father  even  think  that  he  can  make  a 
mistake;  consequently  he  really  beUeves  he  cannot 
err,  and  I  don't  think  that  he  is  wholly  to  blame  for  it. 
I'm  going  to  beg  for  the  Cub's  liberty  the  minute 
father  comes  home,  and  more  than  that,  I'm  going 
to  tell  him  that  we  four  have  been  groping  round  in 
opposite  directions,  and  that  he  simply  must  come 
into  our  Hves,  and  let  us  do  for  him,  or  take  us  into 
his  —  that  the  'some  day'  when  he  will  have  time  to 
listen  must  begin  this  very  night!" 

"Dinner  is  served!"  said  the  reproving  accents  of 
the  waiting-maid,  letting  drop  the  portiere  as  she  spoke, 
and  both  women  glanced  in  surprise  at  the  clock  that 
was  striking  eight. 

"Eight  o'clock  already,  and  I'm  in  my  street  gown," 
said  Brooke,  gathering  up  her  possessions,  and  making 
Sure  that  the  silk-bound  catalogue  was  in  her  muff. 

"Eight  o'clock,  and  your  father  has  not  yet  come 
home!" 

"Perhaps  he  has  stopped  at  the  club,  and  talked 
longer   than   usual.    I   heard   to-day   through   Lucy, 


78  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

to  whom  her  father  seems  to  speak  as  freely  about  his 
business  as  if  she  were  his  partner,  that  our  parents 
are  engaged  in  some  important  'deal'  together! 

"He  is  probably  late  for  our  special  benefit,"  said 
Brooke,  cheerfully,  "so  that  we  may  make  ourselves 
just  a  wee  bit  pretty,"  and  putting  her  arm  about 
her  mother,  she  led  her  down  the  corridor  to  their 
rooms,  which  adjoined,  and  five  minutes  sufficed  for  each 
to  slip  on  the  tasteful,  yet  simple,  dinner  gown  that  the 
lady*^s-maid,  now  at  her  post,  had  laid  in  readiness. 

"Ask  the  page  in  the  outer  hall  if  any  note  has  come 
for  mother,"  said  Brooke  to  the  woman,  as  they  went 
to  the  dining  room.  "It  was  only  yesterday  that  I 
found  that  two  personal  notes  had  been  travelling 
up  and  down  in  the  elevator  for  half  the  morning,  in 
spite  of  two  men  at  the  door,  and  one  posted  every 
ten  feet  the  rest  of  the  way." 

"There  is  no  note  come,  ma'am,"  replied  the  waiting- 
maid,  a  couple  of  minutes  later,  "but  he  says  that 
Mr.  Lawton's  been  over  an  hour  at  home,  —  at  least 
he  came  in  then,  and  he's  not  seen  him  go  out,  that  is, 
not  by  the  lift.  He  must  have  let  himself  in  with  a 
key,  then,  for  neither  Sellers  nor  I  opened  for  him." 

"Perhaps  he  went  to  the  den,  thinking  we  were  all 
out,  and  does  not  reaUze  how  late  it  is,"  said  Brooke, 
moving  swiftly  down  the  hall,  followed  by  her  mother. 
Turning  the  comer,  for  her  father  had  located  his  den, 


THE  LAWTONS  79 

for  the  sake  of  quiet,  as  far  as  possible  from  the  rest  of 
the  apartment,  she  saw  the  Ught  that  shone  above 
and  below  the  portiere,  for  the  door  was  not  whoUy 
closed. 

"Yes,  he  is  here  after  all!"  and  she  threw  open  the 
door  without  knocking,  as  she  alone  dared,  and  entered 
with  some  playful  words  upon  her  lips,  quite  prepared 
to  rumple  the  iron-gray  hair,  a  little  thin  on  top,  that 
partially  capped  the  figure  seated  at  his  desk,  with  his 
left  hand,  as  usual,  in  his  pocket. 

The  next  moment  she  stopped,  as  an  undefined  feeling 
of  dread  held  her  fast,  —  the  right  hand  was  stiflQy 
extended,  as  if  it  had  just  let  go  its  hold  of  the  movable 
'phone  that  stood  on  the  desk,  and  knocked  it  over. 
The  usually  alert  figure  had  settled  in  the  chair,  the 
head  dropping  backward,  while,  after  a  single  breath, 
that  resounded  like  a  snore,  there  was  no  sound. 

Brooke  touched  him  quickly;  there  was  still  the 
warmth  of  life,  and  the  left  side  of  the  face  twitched 
frightfully,  but  no  words  came;  his  face,  flushed  at 
first,  was  growing  rapidly  livid.  Instantly  she  wound 
her  strong  young  arms  about  him,  and,  laying  him 
on  the  thick  rug,  his  head  sHghtly  turned  and  raised, 
she  motioned  to  her  mother  and  the  maid,  who  had 
come  at  her  unconscious  call,  to  loosen  collar  and 
clothing,  while  she  sped  back  to  the  telephone  in  her 
mother's  sitting  room  to  call  a  doctor  who  was  resident 


8o  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

in  the  hotel,  and  he  was  at  hand  almost  before  she 
realized  that  the  call  had  gone  forth. 

"Cerebral  hemorrhage;  has  he  had  bad  news  or 
some  sudden  shock?"  was  what  the  physician  said  a 
moment  after  he  entered  the  room  where  Adam  Lawton 
lay,  and  saw  the  litter  of  papers  and  the  overthrown 
instrument.  But  there  was  no  letter  or  telegram 
among  them  that  could  indicate,  and  the  ominous  tele- 
phone receiver  was  mute. 

As  the  men  from  the  house  helped  move  him  to  his 
room,  Mrs.  Lawton  and  Brooke  following  silent  with 
the  first  calmness  of  a  shock,  her  own  words  rang  in 
her  ears.  "He  must  come  into  our  lives  and  let  us  do 
for  him  or  take  us  into  his  life ;  the  '  some  day '  when  he 
wiU  have  time  to  listen  must  begin  to-night!" 

The  first  hour  passed,  that  period  of  rapid  action 
following  a  calamity  that  intervenes  before  the  clutch 
of  the  tension  of  continued  strain  is  felt. 

The  family  physician  came  and  called  an  expert  in 
counsel,  and  then  Brooke  was  directed  to  send  for  a 
nurse,  —  more  than  one  her  mother  would  not  have, 
and  as  she  was  intelligently  calm,  no  objection  was 
made  to  her  insistence  that  she  should  share  both 
the  care  and  responsibility  of  the  night. 

Adam  Lawton  was  unconscious,  and  life  itself  must 
hang  in  the  balance  for  many  hours  at  best,  and  the 
physicians  insisted  upon  the  most  perfect  quiet. 


THE  LAWTONS  8i 

Who  can  say  where  the  mind  is  when  its  physical 
registry  is  interrupted?  The  physician  cannot  tell 
you,  but  at  the  same  time  he  is  very  careful  to  keep 
injurious  impression  beyond  the  range  of  the  seemingly 
deaf  ears.  Brooke  went  to  her  father's  den  and  touched 
the  instrument  that  had  so  recently  fallen  from  his 
hand,  almost  with  a  shudder.  If  only  it  would  repeat 
to  her  what  it  had  said  to  him,  some  light  would  be 
shed   upon   the   mystery. 

After  arranging  for  the  nurse,  a  desire  for  compan- 
ionship during  this  night  of  suspense  seized  her,  and 
she  called  the  number  that  meant  Lucy  Dean,  thinking 
as  she  did  so,  "I  must  tell  her  as  quickly  as  I  can,  for 
I  cannot  bear  her  usual  telephone  joking  now." 

"Lucy  ?  It  is  I,  Brooke  Lawton ;  can  you  come  down 
and  spend  the  night  with  me?  Please  listen  until  I 
finish.     Something  awful  has  happened  —  father  —  " 

Lucy  (breaking  in  with  a  torrent  of  words):  "Yes, 
you  poor  dear,  I  know  all  about  it;  heard  it  just  as 
soon  as  I  got  home,  before  dinner  —  dad  told  me. 
We  would  have  been  down  by  now,  only  dad  thought,  as 
your  father  had  gone  against  his  ad\dce  through  all 
this  matter,  it  might  seem  pushing  in  me.  Cheer  up, 
it  may  come  out  all  right  yet." 

Brooke:  "I  don't  understand;  how  could  you 
have  heard  before  dinner?  —  it  was  eight  o'clock  before 
we  knew  ourselves." 


82  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"Dad  was  worried  over  the  afifair  and  had  a  special 
sent  him  after  he  came  up  town." 

"Lucy,  what  are  you  talking  about?" 

"Why,  what  else  but  your  father's  great  deal  to 
buy  up  the  stock  control  of  the  T.  Y.  D.  Q.  Railroad, 
and  the  way  those  rascally  friends  of  his  turned  traitor? 
It  isn't  so  kilhng,  after  all.  Dad  was  down  perfectly 
flat  twelve  years  ago,  and  now  he's  ten  times  to  the 
good.  What  dad  thought  foolish  was  for  him  to  reaHze 
on  everything  else  he  had  to  go  into  this  shaky  deal ! " 

"You  mean  that  my  father  has  failed!  Then  that 
accounts,  oh,  that  accounts  for  it  all ! " 

"You  don't  say  that  you  did  not  know  it?  What 
did  you  mean  and  what  are  you  talking  about?  Your 
father  hasn't  —  "  Fortunately  the  question  that  Lucy 
asked  did  not  reach  Brooke's  ears,  for,  pushing  the  in- 
strument from  her  across  the  desk,  she  neither  cried 
nor  raved  nor  wrung  her  hands,  but  sitting  forward  in 
her  father's  chair,  very  much  the  attitude  he  took 
when  deep  in  thought,  scarcely  stirred  for  the  quarter- 
hour.  The  visible  signs  of  the  years  she  lacked  of 
being  the  age  she  really  was  came  swiftly,  and  laid 
their  hands  upon  hers,  not  empty  hands  nor  yet  filled 
with  the  trifles  the  years  sometimes  hold.  Presently 
Courage  entered  her  heart,  and  then  its  sponsors,  Hope 
and  Constancy. 

Soon  a  muflfled   closing  of  the  door  at  the  lower 


THE  LAWTONS  83 

end  of  the  hall,  and  the  approaching  tiptoe  tread  of 
two  people  of  uneven  weights,  brought  her  to  her  feet 
and  into  the  crisis  again.  It  was  Lucy,  who,  with 
every  vestige  of  flippancy  gone,  threw  her  arms  around 
her  friend's  neck  and  burst  into  tears,  while  Brooke 
held  out  her  hand  to  Mr.  Dean,  meanwhile,  looking 
him  straight  in  the  eyes,  saying :  "  Thank  you  for  coming. 
Do  not  trouble  to  conceal  anything,  only  tell  me  the 
truth,  and  do  it  quickly,"  not  reah^ing  that  in  such 
cases  truth-telUng  is  not  the  simple  thing  that  it  is 
reckoned. 


CHAPTER  Vn 

THE  DAY  AFTER 

There  was  a  single  day  of  incredulity  and  suspense, 
and  then  the  fact  of  Adam  Lawton's  financial  downfall 
was  made  public  through  the  papers,  together  with  the 
names  of  those  who  had  been  swept  from  their  feet  in 
his  company.  As  to  his  physical  collapse,  it  was  merely 
stated  that  he  was  ill  at  his  department  in  the  St.  Hilaire, 
denied  himself  to  all  visitors,  and  would  hold  no  com- 
munication even  with  his  lawyer  or  business  associates. 

Few  people  sink  alone  in  a  financial  maelstrom,  and 
Lawton  was  not  one  of  these ;  so  that  the  cries  and  mut- 
tered imprecations  of  those  who,  unMke  her  father, 
were  conscious  and  battling  for  Ufe  in  trying  to  find  and 
cling  to  bits  of  the  wreckage  reached  Brooke  and 
rang  in  her  ears,  partially  deafening  her  to  her  own 
thoughts. 

It  was  not  until  noon  of  the  second  day  that  she  had 
succeeded  in  getting  her  mother  to  leave  her  post  and 
see  Mr,  Dean  in  the  library.  At  first  Brooke  had  hoped 
to  keep  the  knowledge  of  the  real  cause  of  her  father's 
illness  from  her  mother,  for  a  few  days  at  least,  but  it 

84 


THE  DAY  AFTER  85 

was  of  no  use ;  every  one  in  the  great  hotel  was  aware 
of  the  facts,  even  though  it  made  no  difference  in  the 
attitude  of  the  employees,  for  with  a  certain  class  of 
people,  and  a  fairly  intelligent  one  at  that,  failures  are 
often  interpreted  merely  as  an  odd  trick  in  the  game  of 
finance  now  played.  One  of  the  important  morning 
papers  even  went  so  far  as  to  print  a  thinly  veiled  hint 
that  Adam  Lawton's  seclusion  and  supposed  illness  was 
a  very  subtle  excuse  for  gaining  time  or  allowing  him 
to  forget  much  that  it  would  be  extremely  inconvenient 
to  be  called  upon  to  remember  at  this  juncture. 

Mrs.  Lawton  had  gone  through  her  ordeal  with  Mr. 
Dean  very  quietly;  she  heard  his  explanation  —  that 
is,  as  far  as  anything  that  might  be  said  could  be  called 
such,  but  its  full  meaning  had  not  yet  dawned  upon 
her;  and  being  utterly  worn  out  she  allowed  herself  to 
be  tucked  up  on  the  lounge  in  Brooke's  room,  where  she 
fell  into  an  exhausted  sleep,  under  the  soothing  touch 
of  her  daughter's  fingers. 

Lucy  Dean,  coming  in  during  the  late  afternoon,  for 
she  had  remained  with  her  friend  since  the  first  and  had 
only  gone  out  for  a  walk,  found  Brooke  sitting  bolt  up- 
right in  her  father's  chair  in  the  den,  a  newspaper  that 
rested  on  the  desk  crumpled  in  one  hand,  and  a  dan- 
gerous light  in  her  eyes. 

"Have  you  seen  this?"  she  asked  Lucy,  in  a  voice 
that  was  fairly  hoarse  from  suppression,  as  she  pointed 


S6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

to  the  insinuating  article  which  bore  the  double  signifi- 
cance of  being  semi-editorial  in  form, — "and  appear- 
ing in  the  Daily  Forum  too,  the  paper  that  father 
always  thought  the  most  sound  and  moderate.  Oh, 
how  I  wish  that  I  could  get  hold  of  some  one  and  make 
them  beheve  at  least  that  father  is  truly  ill  and  knows 
absolutely  no  one,  not  even  mother  and  me ! " 

"Brooke  Lawton,  if  you  are  going  to  read  all  the 
papers  say  or  hint  about  your  affairs  during  the  next 
few  weeks,  you  will  give  me  a  chance  to  look  up  a  sana- 
torium, with  nice  cool  bars  for  you  to  snub  your  nose 
against,  which  won't  improve  its  shape.  Don't  read 
the  papers;  if  the  things  aren't  true,  why  bother,  and 
if  some  of  them  are,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it?" 

Lucy  had  been  astonishingly  quiet  and  sympathetic 
for  nearly  twenty-four  hours,  but  a  long  walk  in  the 
fresh  air  had  raised  her  indomitable  animal  spirits 
to  the  top  again,  and  though  they  sometimes  made 
Brooke  catch  her  breath  and  gasp,  hke  too  crude  a  stim- 
ulant, they  were  under  the  circumstances  probably  the 
best  counterbalance  and  tonic  she  could  have  had. 

"Of  course,"  Lucy  continued,  "if  it  was  a  purely 
social  affair,  I  could  get  Charlie  Ashton  to  stuff  the 
papers  to  the  limit.  If  he  is  my  cousin,  I  must  say  that 
he  managed  to  syndicate  the  account  of  the  Parkses' 
musicale  most  adroitly  (of  course,  though,  you  didn't 


THE  DAY  AFTER  87 

read  that  yesterday).  The  main  description  —  gowns 
and  all  that  —  was  the  same  in  each,  but  Charlie  con- 
trived to  let  each  reporter  have  some  extra  item  that 
fitted  his  paper  specially.  A  httle  more  about  the  music 
for  one,  details  of  the  picture  gallery  for  another,  the 
brand  of  champagne  used  for  a  third,  upholstery  for  a 
fourth,  and  so  on.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  remembdl* 
something  about  his  saying  that  a  reporter  on  the  Daily 
Forum  was  a  chum  of  his  at  Harrard.  I  might  try 
and  see  what  Charlie  can  do,  but  I'm  afraid,  as  far  as 
serious  news  goes,  even  his  chum  wouldn't  swallow 
him." 

"Oh,  Lucy,  Lucy!  can't  you  see  it  is  not  stuffing 
and  swallowing  that  I  want,  but  for  people  to  know  that 
father  is  really  ill  and  not  shamming  —  that  we  are  not 
all  combining  in  a  dreadful  game  of  deceit?" 

"Do  be  content,  child,  to  let  the  talk  wear  itself  out. 
From  what  the  doctor  told  my  father  this  morning, 
your  father  may  be  a  long  time  Hke  this — weeks  and 
months  perhaps  —  even  if  by  and  by  he  comes  to  him- 
self. It  isn't  like  a  toothache  that  will  be  over  to-mor- 
row. You  can't  rush  out  on  the  avenue  and  pull  the 
people  up  here  in  flocks  to  see  for  themselves,  though 
by  to-morrow,  just  as  soon  as  society  has  made  up  its 
mind  what  it  ought  to  do,  you'll  have  plenty  of  callers. 
You  told  me  yourself  that  the  result  of  the  consultation 
was  that  everything  hinges  on  qxiiet 


88  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"  By  the  way,  there  were  two  reporters  clamouring  at 
the  lift  when  I  went  out,  one  actually  trying  to  bribe  the 
boy  to  tell  whether  your  father  was  really  here  in  the 
apartment.  I  sent  them  scurrying  in  a  hurry,  I  can  tell 
you.  Listen!  I  beUeve  that  there  is  another  at  the 
door  now ;  anyway,  some  one  is  asking  for  you.  I  think 
I  heard  the  words  Daily  Forum,''''  and  Lucy  pulled  aside 
the  curtain,  and  going  to  the  angle  in  the  hallway  peered 
down  its  length  to  where  the  maid  was  talking  in  whis- 
pers to  a  tall  somebody  in  pantaloons. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  reporter,"  said  Lucy,  stepping  back 
noiselessly.  "Sellers  is  trying  to  shoo  him  out,  but 
he's  all  inside  the  door  and  asking,  not  a  bit  humbly, 
to  see  *  a  member  of  the  family.'  Watch  and  see  how 
long  it  will  take  me  to  get  rid  of  him,"  and  Lucy 
pulled  on  and  buttoned  her  gloves,  which,  on  coming 
in,  she  had  begun  to  take  off,  with  a  gesture  as  though 
fists  were  to  take  part  in  the  encounter,  if  necessary. 

Brooke,  who  had  been  listening  to  Lucy,  yet  not  look- 
ing at  her,  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  crumpled  paper  before 
her,  suddenly  sprang  to  her  feet,  the  warning  flash  re- 
turning to  her  eyes,  saying :  "  Don't  go ;  I  will  see  this 
man  myself,  and  please  remember,  Lucy,  whatever  I 
may  say  or  do,  you  are  not  to  speak.  No,  don't  leave 
the  room.  I  want  you  to  stay  by  me,  but  this  matter 
of  father's  feigning  illness  is  an  affair  of  honour  that 
only  one  of  the  family  can  conduct." 


THE  DAY  AFTER  89 

Going  quickly  down  the  hall,  she  relieved  the  harassed 
maid  by  indicating  to  the  visitor  that  he  was  to  follow 
her,  at  the  same  time  making  a  gesture  to  caution 
silence,  as  she  guided  him  back  to  the  den. 

What  he  first  saw  on  entering  the  room  was  the  tall, 
straight  figure  of  a  young  woman,  back  turned,  half  a 
hat  and  one  cheek  outlined  against  the  lace  drapery, 
through  which  she  was  looking  into  the  street  with  a 
frozen  fixedness,  as  if  her  very  life  depended  upon  not 
moving  or  turning  the  fraction  of  an  inch.  His  second 
glance  rested  on  the  other  woman,  who,  having  pre- 
ceded him,  was  standing  by  the  desk  comer,  half  sup- 
porting herself  by  it.  She  raised  her  head  with  its 
wreath  of  ash-brown  hair  proudly,  and  looked  him  in  the 
face  with  eyes  in  which  anger  struggled  with  a  pleading 
expression,  in  keeping  with  the  heavy  shadows  that 
underlay  them. 

After  moistening  her  lips  once  or  twice  nervously, 
Brooke  spoke:  "You  asked  to  see  one  of  the  family, 
and  said  it  was  important  that  you  should.  If  you  are 
a  gentleman,  as  you  appear  to  be,  of  course  you  would 
not  have  come  at  such  a  time  on  trivial  business.  I  am 
Brooke  Lawton;  what  do  you  wish  to  ask?" 

For  an  instant  the  young  fellow  hesitated,  thoroughly 
abashed ;  he  had  met  with  a  variety  of  experiences  in 
following  his  vocation  of  news  collecting,  but  never  be- 
fore had  he.  felt  so  much  like  beating  a  retreat,  or  his 


90  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

errand  seemed  so  intrusive.  Without  any  special 
claim  to  good  looks  or  great  stature,  he  had  a  certain 
clear-cut  distinctiveness  of  feature,  a  mouth  that  stood 
the  harsh  test  of  the  shaved  upper  hp,  and  eyes  that, 
though  they  opened  lengthwise  rather  than  wide, 
looked  as  if  they  would  take  in  the  surroundings  and 
atmosphere  as  well  as  the  main  object  on  which  they 
were  focussed. 

While  he  hesitated  the  newspaper  which  Brooke 
still  clutched  attracted  him,  and  as  he  read  its  title  he 
divined  that  Brooke  had  overheard  the  name  he  had 
just  given  the  maid  at  the  door  and  already  associated 
him  with  the  sneering  article.  Laying  the  card,  which 
the  maid  had  refused,  upon  the  table,  he  said  quietly, 
but  with  an  earnestness  that  carried  conviction:  "I  am 
Tom  Brownell  of  the  Daily  Forum,  the  sheet  you  have 
in  your  hand.  I  know  that  there  was  a  nasty  leader  in 
this  morning's  issue  that  was  sUpped  in,  no  one  seems 
to  know  how,  by  some  one  who  had  animus  or  was  hard 
hit  in  this  T.  Y.  D.  Q.  deal.  We  pride  ourselves  upon 
getting  at  the  truth  of  things  that  concern  the  pubhc, 
so  I  have  come  here  to  settle  for  once  and  all  the  ques- 
tion of  Mr.  Lawton's  reported  serious  illness,  by  direct 
communication  with  some  one  of  his  family." 

"You  mean  that  you  wish  to  know  if  my  father  is 
really  ill?  Then  people  do  doubt  it  and  think  he  may 
be  merely  hiding  to  avoid  inquiry?"  said  Brooke,  who 


THE  DAY  AFTER  91 

now  had  full  control  of  the  voice  that  her  friends  called 
silvery,  but  which  now  had  more  of  steel  in  its  ring. 

"Moreover,  you  expect  to  learn  the  truth  by  asking 
one  of  his  family  —  what  will  that  amount  to  if  they 
choose  to  aid  and  abet  the  illness  that  your  paper  hints 
is  part  of  a  well-arranged  covering  of  a  retreat?  If  I 
should  tell  you  that  night  before  last,  while  my  mother 
and  I  were  waiting  for  him  to  return  to  dinner,  my 
father  had  come  home,  unknown  to  us  or  the  maids, 
letting  himself  in  with  a  latch-key,  which  he  used  so 
seldom  that  we  had  forgotten  its  existence;  when 
finally,  attracted  by  a  hght  under  the  door  of  this  room, 
we  opened  it,  he  was  in  this  chair,  unconscious,  stricken 
with  apoplexy,  his  hand  by  the  receiver  of  the  over- 
turned telephone;  since  then,  though  as  far  as  physi- 
cal Ufe  goes  he  is  hving,  he  has  neither  moved  nor  spoken 
nor  recognized  any  one,  nor  can  he  swallow,  and  such 
liquid  food  as  he  has  taken  is  given  artificially, — if  I 
tell  you  all  this,  still  how  can  you  be  sure  it  is  the  truth?" 

"Please,  please.  Miss  Lawton,  I  am  shocked  and 
awfully  grieved  and  ashamed.  Don't  be  so  hard  on  your- 
self and  on  me  as  to  think  that  I  dreamed  of  any  such 
condition  existing.  We  reporters  do  not  rejoice  in  the 
misfortunes  of  others.  But  that  it  is  not  the  time  for 
such  things,  I  could  tell  you  that  one  of  the  reasons  I 
had  in  beginning  hfe  in  this  way  was  to  get  to  the  bottom 
of  things,  and  see  if  some  people  at  least  didn't  really 


92  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

want  to  tell  and  hear  the  truth  in  the  newspapers.  Of 
course  I  will  believe  what  you  tell  me,  and  all  that  re- 
mains is  for  me  to  apologize  for  pushing  in  upon  you 
and  —  go  as  quickly  as  possible.  I  only  wish  I  could 
help  or  do  something  to  ease  you." 

"You  forget  that  I  have  told  you  nothing,"  said 
Brooke,  hesitating  and  catching  at  the  throat  of  her 
blouse  as  if  she  wished  to  pull  it  away  and  give  herself 
more  room  to  breathe  —  "I  only  said  if,  and  if  you  are 
looking  for  truth,  to  be  certain  you  must  see  it,  not  ask 
about  it."  Then,  as  the  new  thought  grew  upon  her, 
and  she  realized  that  her  mother  was  asleep,  the  tragedy 
fled  from  her  eyes,  that  she  had  fixed  upon  the  face 
of  the  reporter,  —  who,  fast  losing  his  self-possession, 
stood  looking  uncomfortable  and  foolish,  turning  his 
hat  about  by  its  rim  like  an  applicant  for  a  situation, — 
her  entire  poise  had  altered,  and  she  seemed  several 
inches  taller. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Brownell,  don't  you  see  that  the  only  way 
that  you  can  help  us  in  teUing  the  truth  about  father  is 
by  seeing  for  yourself  ?  Put  down  your  hat  and  come 
with  me — "  and  before  he  had  recovered  from  his 
astonishment,  Brooke  grasped  Tom  Brownell  by  the 
wrist  and  Uterally  led  him  from  the  room,  up  the  hall- 
way, not  toward  the  entrance  but  along  the  side  passage, 
where  the  electricity  had  not  yet  been  turned  on  and 
which  was  in  a  dim  and  uncertain  hght. 


THE  DAY  AFTER  95 

Pausing  before  the  door  of  Adam  Lawton's  room, 
and  without  releasing  her  hold  of  Brownell's  wrist,  she 
turned  the  handle  carefully,  entered,  and  was  standing 
with  her  companion  in  the  shadow  of  the  bed  before 
the  nurse  at  the  opposite  side  reahzed  that  any  one  had 
come  in,  or  could  even  raise  her  hand  in  caution.  No 
one  spoke,  and  the  footsteps  on  the  thick  rug  that  cov- 
ered the  floor  made  no  sound  —  the  breathing  of  the 
pale  figure  prone  upon  the  bed  was  the  only  vibration 
even  of  the  air. 

For  two,  perhaps  three,  minutes,  that  held  an  eternity 
of  torture  to  Brownell,  who  stood  with  bent  head,  they 
remained,  so  that  no  detail  could  escape  his  notice. 
Then  Brooke  led  him  back  to  the  den,  leaving  the  nurse 
in  grave  doubt  as  to  what  manner  of  man  this  might 
be  who  had  seemingly  been  forcibly  led  into  the  room 
where,  by  the  doctor's  orders,  no  one  but  mother  and 
daughter  were  to  be  admitted. 

The  moment  that  the  curtains  had  closed  behind  the 
two,  Lucy  Dean  turned  from  the  window  with  a  sudden- 
ness that  might  be  described  as  a  bang,  except  that  no 
noise  went  with  the  motion.  Drawing  two  or  three 
long  breaths,  as  a  rehef  to  her  suppressed  speech,  she 
crossed  the  room  and  picked  up  the  reporter's  card, 
turned  it  over  and  over  and,  reading  the  name  with  de- 
liberation, put  it  in  her  pocket.  "Thomas  Brownell, 
Jr.,  the  Daily  Forum"  she  repeated,  at  the  same  time 


94  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

making  a  mental  note  that  the  card  itself  was  of  good 
quality  and  engraved,  not  printed,  an  unusual  occur- 
rence with  the  average  reporter.  Spying  his  hat,  she 
next  seized  upon  that,  discovering  at  a  single  glance  the 
name  of  a  maker  of  good  repute  and  Brownell's  own 
address,  at  a  comfortable  though  inexpensive  bachelor 
inn,  stamped  in  gilt  letters  on  the  band.  Hearing  a 
slight  rustling  in  the  hall,  she  returned  to  her  post  by 
the  window,  but,  instead  of  standing,  she  had  thrown 
herself  into  a  chair,  half  facing  the  room,  by  the  time 
that  the  two  returned. 

Nothing  further  was  said  as  to  what  had  been  seen. 
Brownell  picked  up  his  hat,  preparing  to  leave  as 
quickly  as  possible,  yet  he  could  not  but  notice  that 
Lucy  Dean,  who  by  this  time  had  turned  wholly  toward 
the  room,  was  looking  at  him  with  an  expression  half 
quizzical,  half  challenging. 

Brooke  dropped  wearily  into  the  chair  by  the  desk; 
the  strain  of  the  last  hour  had  been  greater  than  what 
she  actually  felt;  she  had  been  hurried  swiftly  to  face 
stem  realities,  which  all  her  life,  though  through  no 
choice  of  her  own,  had  been  to  her  a  side  issue  in 
which  she  took  no  part  or  responsibility,  and  which  she 
was  never  allowed  to  question.  Then,  seeing  that  the 
reporter  was  standing  and  evidently  at  a  loss  how  to  go, 
she  went  forward  with  extended  hand,  saying,  very 
gently, "  Good-by.    I  think  I  may  trust  you  not  to  mis- 


THE  DAY  AFTER  95 

understand  my  father's  illness  now."  Turning  to  the 
figure  by  the  window,  now  all  on  the  alert,  she  said, 
"Lucy,  dear,  will  you  please  show  Mr.  Brownell  the 
way  out,  there  are  so  many  turns  in  this  inner  hall?" 
Then,  as  Lucy  raised  her  eyebrows  in  disgusted  ques- 
tion marks,  Brooke  continued,  "Ah,  forgive  me!  this 
is  my  dear  friend.  Miss  Dean,  Mr.  Brownell,  and"  — 
a  little  smile  hovered  around  the  comers  of  her  mouth 
in  spite  of  herself —  "you  may  be  very  sure  that  she  will 
never  tell  you  anything  but  the  whole  truth!" 

Then,  as  the  two  girls  changed  places  and  Lucy  led 
the  way  down  the  main  hall,  Brooke  reseated  herself 
before  the  desk,  that  might  tell  so  much  if  it  only  could, 
folded  her  arms  upon  it,  hiding  her  weary  eyes  in  them. 
Had  she  done  right  or  wrong  in  letting  a  stranger  see 
her  father's  real  condition?  Would  it  make  outside 
conditions  better  or  worse  ?  Why  had  the  doctor  given 
out  such  evasive  bulletins?  Well,  the  die  was  cast, 
and  something  within  told  her  that  from  that  hour, 
when  she  had  taken  the  family  responsibiUty  upon  her- 
self, she  would  have  to  bear  it. 

As  Tom  Brownell  crossed  the  rug  that  lay  before  the 
outer  door  of  the  Lawton  apartment,  something  be- 
tween it  and  the  tiled  flooring  slid  under  the  pressure 
of  his  foot.  Checking  his  first  impulse  to  pass  on  and 
get  out  as  quickly  as  possible,  he  turned  back,  even 


96  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

though  the  door  itself  was  open,  and,  lifting  the  comer 
of  the  rug,  picked  up  two  thin  keys,  one  smaller  than 
the  other,  that  were  joined  by  a  steel  ring.  Accustomed 
to  fit  two  and  two  together ,  rapidly,  he  involuntarily 
glanced  at  the  spring  lock  on  the  door  to  see  if  they  be- 
longed to  it,  but  found  it  of  a  different  pattern.  Step- 
ping outside,  the  better  to  see  by  the  hanging  electric 
light,  he  found  that  the  keys  bore  no  name  or  mark 
other  than  figures,  probably  the  factory  number  of  keys 
of  a  fine  make.  Turning  to  Lucy,  who  had  already 
come  into  the  main  hall  and,  half  closing  the  door  behind 
her,  was  watching  him,  he  muttered  a  hasty  apology 
for  his  curiosity  concerning  the  keys,  saying:  "To  me 
unfamihar  keys  have  always  had  a  strange  fascination, 
for  all  my  life  I  have  expected  to  find  one  that  would 
unlock  a  mystery.  These  probably  belong  to  some 
of  Mrs.  or  Miss  Lawton's  possessions  —  a  travelling 
bag  or  jewel  case.  Will  you  please  take  charge  of  them  ? 
And  thank  you  for  showing  me  the  way  out,"  turning 
up  the  corridor  as  he  spoke. 

"You  needn't  thank  me  for  showing  you  the  way,  as 
you  evidently  don't  know  it,"  said  Lucy;  "that  is,  un- 
less you  have  professional  reasons  for  going  down  in 
the  luggage  hft  with  trunks,  baby  wagons,  clothes- 
baskets,  and  scrubbing  pails.  No,  you  needn't  raise 
your  eyebrows,  I'm  not  English  or  infected  with  Anglo- 
mania either,  simply  I'm  to  the  point,  and  luggage  lift 


THE  DAY  AFTER  97 

is  a  much  more  smooth  and  pronounceable  expression 
than  baggage  elevator,  don't  you  think? 

*  *  To  the  right — there  you  are !  Not  running  ?  Why, 
the  thing  was  all  right  when  I  came  in  not  an  hour  ago, 
but  I've  noticed  that  the  power  has  a  way  of  giving  out, 
or  the  machinery  needs  oiUng,  about  the  time  the  man 
might  be  supposed  to  want  an  afternoon  nap.  You'll 
have  to  walk  downstairs.  Good  afternoon.  Oh,  by 
the  way,  do  you  happen  to  know  Charlie  Ashton?  I 
beg  his  pardon,  Carolus,  though  I  only  promised  to  call 
him  that  at  his  studio  teas.  He  had  a  chum  at  college, 
he  said,  with  a  literary  and  reformatory  streak,  who  a 
year  ago  had  cut  away  from  his  father's  business,  and 
incidentally  his  own  fortune,  and  was  climbing  into 
journalism,  not  in  at  the  top  story,  but  up  the  cellar  stairs. 
I've  rather  forgotten  his  name.  He  doesn't  chance  to 
be  you,  does  he?" 

"  I'm  afraid  he  does,  and  that  Ashton  has  guyed  me 
unmercifully  to  you,  in  spite  of  all  the  good  turns  that 
he  has  done  me.  But  as  I  am  myself,  you  must  be  his 
cousin.  Miss  Dean,  of  whom  he  talks  so  much  at  the 
club.  I  did  not  quite  catch  what  name  Miss  Lawton 
said." 

"I  am  Lucy  Dean,  and  I  dare  say  that  he  has  talked 
about  me  even  at  so  reprehensible  a  place  as  the  club. 
Talking  about  me,  I  fear,  is  a  bad  habit  that  a  great 
many  of  my  friends  have.    I  also  know  that  he  didn't 


98  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

call  me  Miss  Dean.  What  club  was  it  ?  What  did  he 
call  me  ?  Lucyfer  is  his  pet  title  —  and  what  did  he 
say?" 

"Oh,  Miss  Dean,  it  wasn't  the  way  you  mean  at  all. 
I  was  lunching,  at  his  invitation,  with  him  at  the  Players, 
—  quite  by  ourselves  on  my  word,  and  —  he  —  well, 
he  did  call  you  Lucyfer,  and  said  it  expressed  your 
stand-off  way  and  all  that ;  but  he  declared  you  were  the 
best  chum  a  fellow  ever  had,  and  if  he  wanted  a  studio 
entertainment  to  be  a  corking  success,  he  always  had 
you  pour  tea.  If  I  hadn't  been  spending  all  my 
time  the  last  year  climbing  up  the  cellar  stairs,  as  you 
express  it,  I  should  have  begged  him  to  ask  me  to  one 
of  the  teas ;  but  I'm  out  of  that  sort  of  thing,  for  good 
and  all,  you  see." 

Lucy  flushed  slightly,  an  odd  thing  for  her,  and  then 
said  suddenly,  holding  out  her  right  hand,  both  hav- 
ing been  held  behind  her,  after  a  habit  she  had,  until 
this  moment:  "You  are  keen  to  avoid  teas,  they  are 
horribly  stupid;  the  cigarette  smoke  makes  one's  eyes 
weak,  and  the  Sak^  punch  does  for  the  rest  of  one's 
head,  and  unless  we  act  like  mountebanks  and  shock 
people  so  that  they  forget  to  be  bored,  no  one  would 
come  twice.  Ask  Charlie  to  bring  you  up  to  the  house 
some  afternoon,  as  you  live  so  near  to  him,  about  five 
for  a  cup  of  real  tea.  No,  don't  thank  me,  it  is  not  an 
invitation.    It's  years  since  I've  taken  the  responsibility 


THE   DAY   AFTER  99 

of  giving  one  to  a  man,  —  certainly  not  since  I  was 
eighteen;  you  must  take  the  responsibiUty  of  coming 
upon  yourself!" 

"As  you  have  never  seen  me  until  this  afternoon,  and 
I  only  moved  over  from  —  well,  let's  call  it  the  Borough 
of  Queens  —  last  month,  how  could  you  know  where 
I  live?"  queried  Brownell,  looking  up  with  a  quizzical 
expression,  and  passing  over  the  first  part  of  her  speech, 
not  because  he  did  not  heed  it,  but  for  the  reason  of  a 
certain  Indian  instinct  he  had  of  picking  up  trails  as  he 
went  along,  that  helped  him  not  a  little  in  his  work. 

Lucy  flushed  furiously,  this  time  to  the  roots  of  her 
hair,  sought  refuge  for  a  single  instant  in  subterfuge, 
but  finding  herself  fairly  caught,  throwing  her  head  up, 
stood  with  hands  again  clasped  behind  her,  and  lips 
parted,  smiling  at  the  man  who  had  already  gone  two 
steps  downward  on  the  stairs  when  she  had  called  the 
halt. 

"You  say  that  you  are  seeking  for  truth  with  a  foun- 
tain pen  and  a  stenographer's  note-book,  also  Brooke 
says  that  I  always  speak  the  truth  —  attention  !  I  saw 
your  address  in  your  hat  this  afternoon ! " 

Brownell,  who  was  at  that  moment  holding  his  hat 
against  his  chest,  looked  anxiously  at  the  top  of  the 
crown,  wondering  if  it  had  become  transparent. 

"No,  I  didn't  see  through  the  hat,  it's  not  my  way;  I 
looked  in  it  when  you  were  out  of  the  room,  because  I 


loo  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

wanted  to  know  where  it  was  bought !  A  woman  can 
tell  a  great  deal  by  that!  The  biped  /  call  a  man 
never  buys  a  department-store  hat,  for  instance,  he'd 
rather  wear  a  second-hand  one  first.  Well,  yours  did 
not  come  from  a  department  store,  neither  was  it  second- 
hand ;  in  fact,  it  was  painfully  new,  address  and  all ! " 
Then  Lucy  Dean  turned  on  her  heel  with  right-about- 
face  rapidity  and  vanished  around  the  comer  of  the  cor- 
ridor; while  Tom  Brownell,  half  angry,  half  fascinated, 
and  wholly  amazed,  went  down  the  marble  stairs  two 
steps  at  a  time,  a  difficult  feat,  and  one  that  would 
have  made  the  very  correct  man  at  the  door  suspect  that 
the  visitor  had  been  summarily  ejected,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  expression  of  Brownell's  face,  which,  by  the  time 
he  reached  the  bottom  stair,  wore  a  decidedly  satisfied 
smile. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TRANSITION 

When  Lucy  Dean  returned  to  the  den,  she  found 
Brooke  leaning  upon  the  desk,  her  head  still  pillowed  by 
her  arms,  and  fast  asleep.  Checking  her  first  impulse 
to  waken  Brooke  and  discuss  the  episode  of  the  reporter, 
Lucy  stood  thinking  a  moment,  looked  at  the  clock, 
then,  drawing  a  sheet  of  paper  toward  her,  wrote  a  few 
words  upon  it  in  vigorous  upright  characters,  placed  it 
where  the  sleeper  could  not  fail  to  see  it  the  moment 
her  eyes  opened,  and,  after  rearranging  her  furs,  that 
she  had  thrown  off  when  she  had  returned  from  her 
walk,  vanished  from  the  room. 

Her  coming  and  going  made  a  mental  movement, 
for  there  had  been  no  sound.  Brooke  raised  her  head, 
and  looking  about  in  a  dazed  way  spied  the  note, 
which  said,  "As  everybody  and  thing  seems  to  be 
asleep,  have  gone  home  to  dine  with  father;  will  be 
back  before  ten." 

It  was  a  positive  relief  to  Brooke  to  be  quite  alone  for 
at  few  hours,  and  it  would  also  give  her  the  chance  to 
sec  the  physicians  more  satisfactorily;  they  were  due 
about  six. 

lOI 


I02  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Going  to  her  own  room,  she  found  her  mother  had 
returned  to  the  sick  room,  so,  sHpping  on  a  wrapper  and 
loosening  the  tension  of  hair-pins,  she  busied  herself 
by  laying  away  in  closet  and  dresser  various  things  that 
had  lain  about  since  two  nights  before,  which  Olga,  the 
maid,  under  stress  of  confusion,  had  neglected.  Tak- 
ing up  her  great  chinchilla  muff  from  a  chair,  she  was 
shaking  it  in  an  absent-minded  fashion  before  putting 
it  in  its  box,  when  something  sUpped  from  it  and  fell 
lightly  to  the  carpet.  Groping  in  the  dim  light,  she 
picked  up,  not  her  card  case,  as  she  expected,  but  the 
silk-covered  catalogue  of  the  Parkses'  pictures  and  the 
souvenir  menu  in  its  frame  of  silver  filigree.  It  was 
only  two  days  since  she  had  put  them  in  her  muff,  but 
it  seemed  almost  as  if  she  were  looking  back  from 
another  world. 

The  catalogue  naturally  opened  to  the  little  reproduc- 
tion of  Marte  Lorenz'  picture.  Cutting  it  carefully 
from  the  page,  she  sUpped  it  into  the  silver  frame,  which, 
chanced  to  be  of  the  exact  size,  and  setting  it  upon  the 
dressing  table,  turned  on  the  light  above.  Somehow 
the  sight  of  it  gave  her  comfort  more  than  anything 
else  could,  and  the  separation  of  circumstances  and  dis- 
tance seemed  suddenly  to  have  grown  less.  Whatever 
the  interpretation  of  the  picture  might  be,  whatever 
else  might  tide,  she  had  entered  into  and  formed  a  part 
of  the  artist's  first  serious  work,  and  even  if  they  never 


TRANSITION  103 

met  again,  they  would  be  comrades  upon  the  canvas 
as  long  as  it  lasted.  For,  in  spite  of  the  veiling  of  both 
the  likenesses  by  certain  subtle  touches,  it  did  not  oblit- 
erate the  characteristics  of  the  two ;  and  the  longer  that 
Brooke  gazed  upon  the  picture  the  stronger  grew  her 
conviction  that,  under  guise  of  an  attractive  composi- 
tion, it  was  he  and  she  that  Lorenz  had  painted,  that 
he  had  bound  together  forever  by  some  mystical  inspi- 
ration. 

Still  Brooke  did  not  formulate  her  feelings  toward 
this  man  who  had  been  the  first  one  to  tell  her  the  truth 
when  an  untruth  or  evasion  would  have  had  a  pleasanter 
sound ;  such  a  thing  did  not  occur  to  her.  Lucy  Dean 
would  have  dragged  her  emotion  into  the  electric 
light,  diagnosed,  and  duly  labelled  it  at  once.  Neither 
did  Brooke  kiss  the  portrait  nor  put  it  under  her  pillow, 
nor  hide  it  away  in  her  orris-scented  drawer  for  senti- 
ment's sake  or  to  feed  mystery,  as  many  a  girl  would  have 
done ;  but  as  the  light  glared  upon  the  glass  she  turned 
it  out,  and  lighting  a  small  green  candle  of  bayberry 
wax,  that  stood  upon  her  desk,  placed  it  near  the 
frame  so  that  its  rays  fell  obliquely  in  accord  with  the 
picture's  scheme  of  light,  while  the  pungent  fragrance 
of  the  wax  wafted  like  incense  at  a  shrine. 

As  she  stood  thus,  the  outer  door  closed,  a  squeaky 
tread  awkwardly  muffled  came  alrng  the  hallway,  and 
stopping  outside  her  door  made  her  um  hastily.    With- 


I04  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

out  further  ado  the  door  opened,  and  a  pair  of  lean,  slop- 
ing shoulders  ,and  a  freckled  face  topped  by  a  mop  of 
sandy  hair  parted  the  curtain,  while  two  dull,  greenish 
hazel  eyes,  very  round  and  wide  open,  explored  the 
room  to  the  very  comers  with  an  expression  of  appre- 
hension. Evidently  being  satisfied  with  the  result, 
the  rest  of  the  six  feet  of  overgrown  boy  followed  the 
head,  swinging  a  suit  case  before  him  with  one  hand, 
while  he  closed  the  door  behind  him  with  the  other. 

Brooke  was  almost  startled  into  calling  out  aloud, 
but  the  figure  clapped  his  hand  to  her  mouth,  and  her 
voice  dropped  to  a  whispered  "Oh,  Cub,  Cub,  where 
did  you  come  from?    How  did  you  hear?" 

"Why,  from  school,  to  be  sure,  Sis,  and  I  heard  from 
Mummy,  else  I  hadn't  dared,  or  couldn't  have  come,  — 
she  sent  me  a  ten,  —  for  I  spent  all  that  was  left  of  my 
quarterly  on  Pam ;  she  was  worth  it,  even  if  I'd  have  had 
to  walk.  I've  only  had  her  a  month,  but  she  knows  my 
whistle  out  of  twenty,  and  she  just  loves  me ;  yes,  she 
does,  you  ought  to  see  her  look  at  me  with  her  head  on 
one  side.  I've  just  left  her  below  with  the  engineer  till 
I  saw  if  the  coast  was  clear.  I'll  bring  her  up  to 
you,  unless  you  think  father's  likely  to  come  in.  Then 
I  suppose  I'll  have  to  take  her  to  the  stable  for  keeps." 

While  the  boy  rattled  on,  Brooke  was  recalling  the 
fact  of  her  brother's  letter,  and  that  her  mother  had  told 
her  about  sending  for  him  to  come  home  in  spite  of 


TRANSITION  105 

everything.  He  had  come,  then,  in  response  to  that 
and  knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened. 

"Father  will  not  come  in,"  she  said,  going  to  him  and 
speaking  very  quietly  to  gain  time,  also  because  she 
did  not  know  exactly  how  best  to  break  the  matter  to 
this  sixteen-year-old  brother  of  hers,  who,  partly  through 
perversity,  but  chiefly  because  his  father  had  never 
imderstood  his  temperament  or  considered  him  as  an 
individual,  was  the  sort  of  cross  between  a  mule  and  a 
firebrand  dubbed  "an  impossibility"  by  people  in 
general. 

"Who  or  what  is  Pam?" 

"She!  She's  the  finest  year-old  brindled  pup  you 
ever  rolled  your  eyes  on,  only  a  quarter  English  for 
bone  and  grit,  and  the  rest  Boston  for  looks.  Her 
father's  got  eight  firsts,  and  Bill  Bent's  father  owns  the 
mother,  and  she's  reckoned  the  finest  bitch  shown  this 
year.  I  paid  fifty,  but  if  BiU  hadn't  been  my  chum, 
two  hundred  was  the  price!  I  called  her  Pam,  after 
Mummy,  you  know,  and  I  thought  maybe  she'd  keep 
her  for  her  own  if  father  sends  me  off  again  to  where 
they  won't  have  Pam.  Lots  of  women  have  Boston 
bulls  to  ride  out  with  them  every  day,"  while,  at  the 
likelihood  of  catastrophe  in  connection  with  his  pet,  the 
animation  that  had  Hghted  the  boy's  face  and  shown 
the  improving  possibility  of  latent  manhood  died  out, 
a  weary  look  replacing  it,  and  the  Cub  dropped  into  a 


io6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

lounging  chair  and  began  to  cough,  holding  his  hand  to 
his  side. 

"If  you  think  I'd  better  not  bring  her  up,  I'll  take 
her  round  to  the  stable  right  away,"  he  said,  when  the 
fit  had  passed  over. 

"Leave  her  downstairs  for  now,"  said  Brooke; 
"I'm  not  sure  if  there  is  any  stable  to-day,"  and  sitting 
on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  untangling  his  mop  of  hair 
with  her  strong,  slender  fingers,  a  proceeding  that  he 
did  not  resent  as  roughly  as  usual,  she  began  to  give 
him  a  brief  history  of  the  past  two  days.  At  first  he 
looked  at  her  in  amazement,  as  if  he  thought  that  she 
had  lost  her  mind,  then  his  head  sank,  and  when  she 
finished  and  tried  to  take  his  hand,  he  pulled  it  away, 
and,  turning  from  her,  buried  his  face  in  the  chair 
back,  breaking  into  long  sobs  that  almost  strangled 
him,  and  that  he  could  not  stifle. 

In  vain  Brooke  tried  to  comfort  him,  to  find  if  there 
was  anything  on  his  mind  of  which  she  did  not  know. 
Her  brother  had  never  been  emotional  in  this  way,  and 
though  she  knew  that  her  father's  strictness  with  the 
boy  was  a  sign  that  all  his  hope  was  in  him,  she  never 
dreamed  the  Cub  would  care  so  much,  if  at  all.  Push- 
ing her  away,  he  staggered  toward  the  door,  his  face 
still  hidden  by  his  hands. 

"Where  are  you  going?  you  must  be  very  quiet," 
said  Brooke,  getting  between  him  and  the  curtain. 


TRANSITION  107 

"To  mother!  I  want  my  mother!  I  must  have  her 
all  to  myself,  and  father  can't  prevent  it  now !"  Then, 
to  her  amazement,  Brooke  realized  that  her  brother's 
tears  were  not  bom  of  grief,  but  of  hysterical  relief  at 
release  from  a  mental  and  physical  bondage  that  had 
fretted  and  cramped  and  warped  his  very  soul. 

"Stay  here,"  she  begged,  "and  I  will  bring  mother 
to  you  I"  Turning  back,  with  a  look  that  told  the 
boy  better  than  words  that  she  understood  his  out- 
burst, and  did  not  brand  it  as  foolishness,  she  said: 
"Be  careful  of  her,  for  I  know  now  that  you  and  I  must 
be  father  and  mother,  and  do  some  hard  thinking,  and 
perhaps  acting,  in  these  next  few  weeks,  for  they  can- 
not. Will  you  stand  by  me,  Adam?"  Then  the  boy 
did  not  push  away  the  hands  that  rested  on  his  shoulders, 
but  held  his  sister  close,  awkwardly,  it  is  true,  but  as  he 
had  not  clung  to  her  since  the  old  days  in  the  down- 
town house,  when  as  a  little  girl  she  stooped  over  his 
crib  to  kiss  him  good  night. 

The  doctors  came,  and  when  they  left,  Mrs.  Lawton 
went  to  her  son.  An  hour  passed,  dinner  was  served, 
and  still  the  two  did  not  come  out.  Brooke  went  to 
the  door,  then  prepared  and  carried  in  a  tray  of  food, 
eating  her  own  meal  afterward  in  soHtary  silence  that 
was  very  soothing  to  her. 

For  the  first  time  she  had  been  able  to  see  the  special- 
ist alone,  and  put  such  definite  questions  to  him  as  dis- 


io8  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

persed  the  usual  non-committal  generalities,  while  at 
the  same  time  it  convinced  him  that  here  was  a  member 
of  the  family  to  whom  the  truth  might  and  should  be 
told.  It  was  possible  that  her  father  might  recover 
from  this  attack,  if  there  was  no  further  hemorrhage; 
also  that  the  clot  that  plugged  the  brain  channel  might 
be  absorbed,  the  paralysis  of  face,  leg,  and  arm  relax, 
and  speech  and  memory  return,  so  that  though  full 
vigour  would  never  again  be  his  he  might  still  have 
years  of  placid  hving  and  enjoyment.  Or  else  he  might 
regain  his  physical  faculties  without  the  brain  cloud  ever 
lifting.  As  for  medicine,  a  few  simple  regulations  and 
then  quiet  must  do  its  work,  coupled  with  constant  care. 
His  failure  and  its  agitation  had  struck  the  blow,  and 
of  this  cause  not  the  faintest  suggestion  must  reach  him 
or  be  even  whispered  of,  for  in  such  cases  no  one  may 
precisely  teU  how  much  of  conscious  unconsciousness 
exists. 

Meanwhile  the  laws  of  trade  must  be  carried  on,  and 
others,  to  keep  their  rights,  sift  and  settle  Adam  Law- 
ton's  affairs  as  far  as  possible,  before  Brooke  could 
learn  what  they  as  a  family  had  or  did  not  have  and  by 
it  measure  what  might  be  done.  For  neither  mother 
nor  daughter  knew  of  the  extent  of  this  final  venture  of 
all,  and  beyond  keeping  domestic  accounts  and  holding 
a  joint  key  with  her  father  to  a  box  in  an  up-town  safe 
deposit  company,  where  family  papers  and  some  secu- 


TRANSITION  109 

rities  belonging  to  her  mother  were  kept,  Brooke  was  no 
partner  in  her  father's  affairs.  In  fact  one  of  the  things, 
Mr.  Dean  said,  that  had  hurried  the  crisis  and  compli- 
cated its  untanghng  was  the  habit  that  Adam  Lawton 
had  formed  of  holding  aloof  from  the  advice  and  con- 
fidence of  his  fellows. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  the  Cub  emerged  from 
Brooke's  room,  he  found  that  she  had  taken  the  nurse's 
place  by  her  father  and  the  Ubrary  was  empty.  While 
he  walked  about  the  room  restlessly,  alternately  enjoy- 
ing his  comparative  liberty  or  wondering  what  he  had 
best  do  about  his  dog,  something  led  him  to  cross  the 
hall  and  turn  the  angle  to  the  den,  where,  to  his  intense 
astonishment,  amid  a  blaze  of  lights,  that  contrasted 
vividly  with  the  semi-dark  silence  of  the  other  rooms, 
was  Lucy  Dean,  in  the  great  leather-covered  Morris 
chair,  upon  one  arm  of  which  sat  the  bull  pup,  whose 
persuasive  pink  tongue  had  just  succeeded  at  the  mo- 
ment he  entered  in  touching  Lucy's  nose  in  affectionate 
salute. 

"Brooke  told  me  about  the  dear,  and  I  went  down 
and  fished  her  out  of  an  old  box,  where  they  had  bedded 
her,  just  in  time  to  save  her  from  spoiUng  her  figure 
with  a  whole  bowl  of  oatmeal  and  soup,"  said  Lucy,  in 
answer  to  the  question  on  the  Cub's  face.  "You've 
got  to  be  very  particular  about  feeding  her,  remember, 


no  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

or  she'll  grow  groggy  and  sleepy  and  wheeze,  instead  of 
keeping  her  sporting  blood  up — "  and  Lucy  held  out  her 
unoccupied  left  hand  to  the  boy,  who,  after  the  callow- 
ness  and  fervour  of  youth,  regarded  this  friend  of  his 
sister's,  eight  years  his  senior,  with  her  dash  and  vim, 
as  the  combination  of  everything  admirable  and  ador- 
able and  himself  her  equal  in  years. 

"No,  I'm  not  going  to  kiss  you  this  time,"  she  con- 
tinued, leaning  back  in  the  chair,  as  he  half  stooped 
behind  her;  "I've  just  transferred  that  to  Pam  here. 
Why?  Because  you've  gained  a  year  and  two  inches 
since  I  saw  you  when  you  came  home  last  Christmas 
—  and  sixteen  is  a  good  stile  to  stop  at.  Then  hands 
off,  young  man,  and  no  kisses  outside  the  family  until 
you  are  twenty-one  and  able  to  shoulder  your  own 
responsibihties. "  The  Cub  growled  out  something 
half  sulkily. 

"Yes,  I  know  I  never  had  an  own  brother,  but  I've 
been  a  good  sister  to  more  of  you  boys  than  were  ever 
bom  even  in  a  Mormon  family,  and  I've  kept  them  all 
for  good  friends,  just  such  as  you're  going  to  be.  No, 
don't  mope  and  go  over  in  the  comer,  because  within 
five  minutes  you'll  simply  have  to  come  back  again  and 
sit  by  Pam  and  me  —  so  you  might  as  well  do  it  now. 

"That's  it,  stretch  and  be  comfortable!  See,  chains 
wouldn't  keep  Pam  away  from  you  now !  Do  you  know 
I  don't  blame  you  for  squandering  your  last  penny  on 


TRANSITION  iii 

diis  bull  pup  —  her  points  are  all  right,  she  has  an  angel 
disposition ;  but  she  doesn't  forget  to  whom  she  belongs 
for  a  single  minute  —  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  drag  her 
past  your  coat  in  the  hall!  But  suppose  she  barks, 
how  can  you  keep  her  here?" 

"That's  the  point,  I  must  take  her  over  to  the  stable 
right  away;  but  you'll  be  here  when  I  come  back, 
won't  you?  I  think  Brooke  said  you  were  stopping 
here." 

"I  was,  but  I  guess  now  that  you  are  here,  I'll  go 
home.  I  stayed  so  that  Brooke  shouldn't  be  lonely; 
besides,  I  have  your  room." 

"That  don't  count,"  protested  the  Cub,  "I  can  sleep 
here  just  as  well  as  not." 

"Oh,  there  is  one  other  thing,"  added  Lucy.  "I'm 
not  so  sure  who  there  is  at  the  stable  or  how  they  would 
treat  Pam,  so  best  not  take  her  there.  I'm  so  glad  that 
you  have  come  home,  boy.  I  dined  with  dad  to-night 
and  tried  to  learn  as  much  as  I  could  about  this  money 
trouble  of  your  father's,  and  it  is  about  as  bad  as  can 
be,  and  though  of  course  it  may  be  some  time  before  it 
can  be  known  exactly  how  things  stand,  there  is  little 
doubt  but  when  what's  left  of  the  apple  is  divided  there 
won't  be  even  the  core  for  you  all.  Of  course,  if  the 
illness  had  not  come,  some  arrangement  might  have 
been  made  to  tide  things  over.  Suppose  you  take  Pam 
down  to  our  house  to-night,  and  stay  there  and  have 


112  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

a  talk  with  dad.  He  will  tell  Brooke  all  he  knows  to- 
morrow. Don't  go  yet,  it's  only  nine,  half  an  hour 
later  will  do  as  well  as  now. 

"Tell  me,  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  honour 
bright?  Are  you  really  sick  or  only  sort  of  lazy  and 
shillyrshally,  obstinate,  discouraged,  and  crazy  to  get 
out  of  jail?  I  know  the  symptoms,  for  I've  had  them 
all  one  by  one,  in  my  youth,  doing  everything  by  rule, 
duty  the  watchword,  more  mathematics  the  penalty 
for  forgetting  it,  and  dyspepsia  the  result.  My  sons 
shall  be  reared  in  the  open,  if  they  never  get  beyond 
horse-breaking  and  cattle-breeding,"  and  a  shiver  of 
S)nnpathy  ran  down  Lucy's  flexible  spine,  branching 
off  in  an  odd  twisting  of  her  fingers  that  sent  her  hand- 
kerchief, that  she  had  rolled  into  a  ball  to  amuse  the 
pup,  flying  across  the  room,  much  to  the  amusement  of 
Pam,  who  caught  it,  and  made  his  master  jump  to 
rescue  the  roll  of  cambric  and  lace  from  her  investigat- 
ing paws. 

"  Honour  bright,  Lucy,  it's  the  being  shut  up  so  much, 
and  the  confounded  mathematics  and  knowing  that  I 
never  seem  to  satisfy  the  old  man  on  top  of  that.  If 
he'd  only  let  me  work  at  something  I  Hke,  and  learn 
to  do  something  out-of-doors,  but  at  this  rate  I  think 
I'm  getting  consumption  — "  and  the  Cub  gave  a  really 
dismal  cough. 

"Of  course  a  man  must  know  how  to  count,  and  a 


TRANSITION  113 

few  little  things  like  that,  no  matter  what  he  does," 
said  Lucy,  so  seriously  that  the  boy  did  not  at  first  realize 
that  she  was  mocking  him;  "for  whether  you  handle 
your  own  or  some  other  person's  money,  or  eggs  and 
potatoes,  counting  will  be  a  painful  necessity. 

"Oh,  oh!  what  is  this?"  she  exclaimed,  as  in  hand- 
ing her  back  her  handkerchief  the  thumb  and  fore- 
finger of  his  right  hand  caught  her  eye.  These  were 
stained  a  brownish  yellow  on  the  inside.  Spreading 
the  fingers  apart,  she  looked  the  boy  in  the  face,  and  he 
flushed  scarlet  under  his  freckles. 

"Been  smoking  cigarettes,  on  the  sly,  of  course,  and 
consequently  in  a  hurry,  swallowed  the  smoke,  and 
sometimes  chewed  the  butts  to  pulp!  There  is  half 
the  cause  why  your  head  won't  work  right,  as  well  as 
one  reason  why  you  are  lanky  and  cough.  See  here, 
young  man,  do  you  know  that  only  what-is-its  and  mis- 
takes smoke  cigarettes?  Men  smoke  pipes,  or  cigars 
if  they  can  afford  them;  and  I'm  going  to  give  you  a 
pipe  on  your  next  birthday,  with  Pam's  head  carved 
on  a  meerschaum  bowl.  I'll  get  CharUe  Ashton  to 
order  it  to-morrow ;  he  knows  a  fellow  who  carves  pipes 
that  are  perfect  dreams.  Meantime  not  a  whiff  or 
sniff  of  a  cigarette.  Yes,  of  course  it's  hard  to  stop, 
they  all  say  that,  but  really,  Cub,  it's  a  horrid  trick. 
Yes,  I  know  all  about  it ;  I  tried  cigarettes  once  myself. 
Empty  your  pockets  quick  and  swear  off." 


114  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

At  first  the  boy  had  looked  annoyed,  and  a  curious, 
obstinate  expression,  akin  to  that  of  a  horse  putting 
back  his  ears,  crossed  his  features,  flattening  them ;  but 
it  only  lasted  a  moment.  It  was  impossible  to  be  angry 
with  Lucy,  for  her  tongue  was  pointed  with  common 
sense  bom  of  experience,  and  there  was  never  anything 
censorious  or  priggish  in  her  strictures. 

So  the  Cub  produced  two  packages  of  cigarettes,  an 
amber  holder,  and  a  silver  match-box,  and  piled  them 
in  the  outstretched  hand  of  his  mentor. 

"Keep  the  match-box,  and  we'll  give  those  things  to 
the  'grasshoppers'  that  go  around  the  street  picking  up 
cigar  stumps  with  a  spike  in  the  end  of  a  stick."  So 
saying,  the  vigorous  young  woman  opened  the  window, 
and  with  a  sidewise  motion  skittled  the  cigarettes 
through  the  air  into  the  street  below,  much  to  the  alarm 
of  an  old  gentleman  upon  whose  shoulders  a  shower 
from  the  first  box  fell.  He  had  come  out  of  the  house 
to  sample  the  weather  and  immediately  returned  for 
umbrella  and  goloshes,  while  the  second  box  landed 
intact  on  the  top  of  a  passing  hansom,  much  to  the 
driver's  satisfaction. 

Then  the  Cub  brought  his  suit  case,  and,  picking  up 
Pam,  went  to  carry  out  Lucy's  suggestion,  while  she, 
after  watching  him  go,  said  half  aloud:  — 

"He's  all  right  if  you  only  understand  him.  Ill 
give  Brooke  a  hint.    I  shouldn't  wonder  if  this  smashup 


TRANSITION  115 

will  give  him  a  push  and  his  chance  —  for  somebody 
has  got  to  go  to  work  in  this  family,  and  pretty  quick, 
too,  according  to  father's  ideas. 

"Heigh-ho,  I  wonder  what  Tom  Brownell  will  have 
to  say  in  the  Daily  Forum  to-morrow.  Will  he  make 
a  sensation  column  of  us,  —  I  mean  of  Brooke  and  her 
object  lesson,  —  or  will  he  turn  his  back  on  the  devil 
and  give  out  a  simple,  dignified  statement  regardless  of 
making  copy?  No,  I  don't  wonder  either,  I'll  gamble 
he's  straight  as  a  plumb-line.  Gracious,  what  did  I  do 
with  those  keys?"  and  Lucy  began  feeUng  in  the  gold 
chain  bag  that  hung  from  her  belt,  as,  hearing  Brooke 
leave  her  father's  room,  she  went  to  join  her. 

The  Daily  Forum  not  only  corrected  its  insinuation 
of  the  previous  day,  but  printed  a  further  statement,  the 
sincerity  and  judiciousness  of  which  at  once  made  the 
financial  disaster  of  Adam  Lawton  secondary  to  his 
physical  collapse.  This  allowed  the  numerous  family 
friends  and  acquaintances  the  chance  to  offer  sympathy 
with  perfect  good  taste,  which  in  the  conventional 
society  of  the  Whirlpool  usually  takes  the  place  of  more 
spontaneous  warmheartedness. 

For  many  days  a  stream  of  callers  came  and  went 
from  the  St.  Hilaire,  some  content  merely  to  leave  a 
card  with  inquiries,  others  asking  for  Mrs.  Lawton 
or  Brooke,  emphasizing  their  offer  of  "doing  some- 


ii6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

thing"  with  a  hand-shake,  but  asking  no  prying  ques- 
tions. Still  others,  as  "intimate  friends"  of  the  family, 
as  the  days  wore  on  and  it  was  definitely  known  that 
though  the  creditors  might  in  time  receive  dollar  for 
dollar,  there  would  be  nothing  over,  not  only  called, 
but  stayed  and  mingled  advice  and  chiding  with  their 
verbal  sympathy. 

"Reduced  to  absolute  beggars,"  was  the  term  that 
Mrs.  Ashton,  Lucy  Dean's  aunt,  applied  to  the  Lawtons 
when  discussing  the  affair  at  a  luncheon  she  was  giv- 
ing, where  all  the  guests  were  women  of  Mrs.  Lawton's 
class  and  set,  though  few  of  them  had  her  gentle  breed- 
ing, "  and  if  Mrs.  Lawton  and  quixotic  Brooke  had  not 
had  such  ridiculous  scruples  as  to  what  belonged  to 
whom,  quite  a  lump  might  have  been  rescued  for  them, 
my  brother  says." 

"My  dear  Susie,"  protested  Mrs.  Parks,  who  since 
her  housewarming  was  fast  advancing  in  power  and 
called  several  exclusives  by  their  first  names  by  request, 
"that  is  not  a  fault  that  can  be  often  found  with  any 
one  nowadays.  The  Senator  says  that  through  all  this 
business  it  was  precisely  the  same  trait  in  Adam  Law- 
ton  of  not  being  quite  willing  to  knock  down  others 
and  make  them  serve  as  scaling  ladders  that  dealt  him 
out  at  last." 

"  The  question  is  now,"  continued  Mrs.  Ashton,  "What 
shall  we  be  expected  to  do  for  them?    They  will  leave 


TRANSITION  117 

ihe  St.Hilaire  the  ist  of  January;  Mr.  Dean  has  manipu- 
lated things  so  far  as  that  for  them,  and  he  wants  them 
to  put  Mr.  Lawton  into  a  partly  endowed  sanatorium 
of  which  he  himself  is  a  trustee,  as  all  the  physicians 
say  he  must  be  kept  out  of  turmoil.  The  Cub,  as  they 
call  the  boy,  is  rather  out  of  health,  so  that  a  year  on  a 
school-ship  would  be  a  good  place  for  him.  They  say 
if  he  went  into  an  oflSce  at  once,  as  Mr.  Dean  expected, 
it  would  probably  kill  him. 

"  Brooke,  of  course,  will  have  to  take  up  her  painting, 
teach,  and  paint  bonbon  boxes  for  Cuyler  and  Gaillard,  or 
menus  for  us.  We  can  all  use  influence  to  get  her  work 
of  that  sort,  and  it  will  help  out  for  a  time  until  we  get 
sick  of  her  style  probably.  Lucy  swears  that  Brooke 
shall  hve  with  her;  we  shall  see.  I  think  that  there 
will  be  something  a  year  from  some  httle  investment 
they  have,  with  which  Mrs.  Lawton  might  board  in 
some  cheap  place,  not  of  course  in  New  York,  but  Brook- 
lyn or  up  in  the  Bronx." 

"Don't,  pray  don't  suggest  boarding  in  those  dread- 
ful places  for  that  sweet,  sensitive  woman ;  it  would  be 
hke  putting  lilies-of-the-valley  in  a  saucepan,"  cried 
Mrs.  Parks  with  warm-hearted  energy;  "it's  too  awful! 
I  would  be  only  too  glad  to  have  her  live  with  me,  if  she 
could  put  up  with  the  whirl  of  it,  and  Brooke  too.  I  often 
Mrish  that  I  had  an  elder  sister  in  the  house  with  whom 
I  could  talk  things  over  comfortably  and   not   have 


ii8  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

them  spread  over  the  face  of  the  earth.  The  hard  part 
of  this  is  that  whatever  is  done  the  family  will  be  split 
to  kindlings,  and  it's  no  joke  parting  a  mother  and  son!" 
For  be  it  said  that  since  the  arrival  of  the  belated  and 
beruffled  little  man  in  the  Easter-egg  crib,  though  Mrs^ 
Parks's  social  ambition  had  rather  increased  than 
diminished,  the  cold-heartedness  that  is  often  a  part 
of  a  social  career  was  altogether  lacking. 

"Besides,  suppose  that  Mr.  Lawton  comes  back  to 
himself  suddenly,  for  you  know  they  say  that  it  some- 
times happens  when  this  aphasia  (I'm  always  possessed 
to  call  it  aspasia,  after  the  snake  that  bit  Cleopatra) 
lifts  —  how  will  he  feel  to  find  himself  in  an  institution 
and  his  family  scattered?" 

"I  don't  see  that  it  concerns  us,"  said  Mrs.  Ashton, 
shrugging  her  shoulders.  "If  he  had  only  died  at  once 
and  been  done  with  it,  they  would  all  have  been  com- 
fortable, for  my  brother  says  that  he  carried  a  simply 
fabulous  life  insurance,  and  that  the  keeping  it  up  was 
what  made  him  so  economical." 

^C  3p  *P  ^^  ^^  fjp  ^^ 

It  was  the  last  week  in  December,  Christmas  week. 
Brooke  and  her  mother  sat  opposite  each  other  in  the 
den  in  a  silence  that  was  keeping  the  brain  of  each  more 
active  than  the  most  rapid  speech.  Although  Adam 
Lawton  had  not  spoken,  the  tension  that  had  drawn 
his  face  had  relaxed,  and  sensation  was  slowly  returning 


TRANSITION  119 

to  his  foot,  though  his  right  hand  was  still  quite  useless. 
But  while  he  took  no  apparent  notice  of  what  passed 
about  him,  his  wife  felt  that  his  eyes  dwelt  upon  her  and 
foUowed  her  when  she  was  in  range,  and  only  that 
morning  he  had  feebly  retained  the  hand  she  had  laid 
within  his  upturned  left  palm.  Recovery  to  a  certain 
extent  was  possible,  the  physician  proclaimed,  with  no 
further  jars,  and  care  and  quietness ;  but  how  to  secure 
this?  Quiet  is  not  always  the  inexpensive  thing  it 
seems.  But  with  this  new-bom  hope,  everything  else 
seemed  unimportant  to  her. 

The  apparent  worst  had  been  carefully  explained  to 
them  and  accepted  several  days  ago,  but  there  had  been 
yet  more,  for  when  Brooke  had  that  morning  gone  to 
the  safety  box,  where  some  jewels  of  her  mother's, — a 
necklace  and  other  things  seldom  worn, — and  some 
dozen  railroad  bonds,  the  Uttle  property  that  came  to 
her  from  the  Brookes,  with  some  shares  of  an  industrial 
stock,  a  birthday  gift  to  Brooke  at  twenty-one,  were 
stored,  the  box  was  empty! 

Thoughts  would  come  that  must  not  find  words  even 
between  themselves  as  they  sat  there.  They  both  be- 
lieved in  Adam  Lawton's  honour  and  that  if  he  could 
speak  he  would  explain;  and  finally,  as  the  tension 
tightened  into  agony,  Brooke  went  over  to  her  mother, 
and  kneeling  by  her  said,  "  Don't  try  to  think  it  out  now, 
mother ;  some  day  we  shall  know,  and  now  it  is  how  to 
live  and  work  until  that  day  comes." 


I20  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

As  for  Brooke,  she  had  lived  five  years  in  those  few 
weeks.  Every  word  that  she  had  ever  heard  of  criti- 
cism of  those  in  their  present  position  came  back  to  her, 
the  cruel  discussion  of  Julia  Garth  at  the  musicale 
topping  the  Ust- 

All  the  various  suggestions,  practical  and  problemati- 
cal, for  their  future  arrayed  themselves  mockingly  in  a 
row  before  her,  but  one  and  all  they  had  their  beginning 
in  the  separation  of  the  family ;  not  a  single  plan  offered 
the  remotest  possibiUty  of  keeping  it  together. 

That  morning,  after  her  finding  of  the  empty  box, 
Brooke  had  seen  Mr.  Dean  in  his  office  and  learned 
definitely  that  the  only  income  they  could  count  upon  after 
the  new  year  was  the  interest  upon  her  shares  of  stock, 
six  hundred  dollars  a  year  —  fifty  dollars  a  month ; 
for  though  the  shares  themselves  were  missing,  as  they 
stood  in  her  name  upon  the  company's  books,  the  inter- 
est would  keep  on.  Besides  this,  there  would  be  a  fund 
gathered  here  and  there  from  articles  she  or  her  mother 
personally  owned  beyond  question  —  a  scant  two 
thousand  dollars. 

One  asset  had  been  overlooked  until  that  interview, 
the  homestead  at  Gilead,  Brooke's  own  property,  asked 
for  in  a  moment  of  sentiment  and  freely  given  her. 
Mr.  Dean,  knowing  the  place  and  location  well,  thought 
that,  with  good  management,  it  might  be  sold  at  the 
right  season  for  perhaps  six  or  eight  thousand  dollars. 


TRANSITION  121 

AU  these  circumstances  were  pushed  into  Brooke's 
brain,  jostling  and  crowding  each  other  until  it  seemed 
hopeless  to  think.  Even  Lucy  Dean,  huflfed  because 
Brooke  would  not  come  to  her  for  the  rest  of  the  winter 
or  borrow  money  of  her  father  to  establish  a  little 
apartment  where  she  could  work  at  her  painting,  though 
she  came  as  regularly  as  ever,  had  ceased  to  question 
or  even  offer  cheer.  And  it  seemed  almost  impossible 
for  Brooke  to  tell  her  mother,  in  the  face  of  hope,  that 
Mr.  Dean's  plan  of  sending  Adam  Lawton  to  the  sana- 
torium in  the  country  seemed  the  only  feasible  solution 
at  the  present  moment.  As  for  her  mother  and  herself, 
she  would  work  for  both,  but  not  in  anything  obtained 
merely  by  the  insecure  path  of  social  influence.  It 
would  be  teaching  drawing,  of  course,  for  too  well 
she  reahzed  Lorenz'  words  that  as  a  painter  of  pictures 
she  had  not  yet  "awakened,"  and  in  the  world  of  com- 
petition the  winners  of  a  single  prize  or  the  acclaim 
won  in  charity  bazaars  is  a  damning  introduction. 

The  entrance  of  some  one  brought  Brooke  to  herself, 
a  shrill  voice  that  repUed  in  a  high  key  to  the  answer 
of  the  maid,  "In  the  den?  Then  we'll  go  right  in  very 
informally,  no  need  to  take  the  cards,"  and  Mrs.  Ash- 
ton,  followed  by  a  married  daughter,  entered  quite 
abruptly,  the  elder  lady  looking  at  the  two  women  with 
something  akin  to  disapproval  on  her  florid  face,  an 


122  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

expression  that  Brooke  interpreted  instantly.  Mrs. 
Ashton  was  becoming  bored  at  the  situation  and  had  a 
feeling  of  resentment  that  all  her  opportunities  of  be- 
coming the  patroness  of  the  Lawtons  were  vanishing. 

She  still  had  one  more  card  to  play,  a  trump  she  con- 
sidered it,  and  she  suddenly  drew  it  from  the  pack  and 
cast  it  before  Mrs.  Lawton.  A  widower,  more  than 
passing  rich,  though  not  of  her  precise  set,  with  two 
daughters  just  leaving  school,  had  intrusted  her  to  find 
a  well-bred  New  Yorker  as  chaperon  and  companion 
to  travel  with  them  until  the  next  autumn,  and  then 
launch  them  tactfuUy  in  the  Whirlpool.  Any  reason- 
able salary  might  be  demanded  —  would  dear  Pamela 
like  the  chance?  Six  or  eight  months  abroad  would 
doubtless  restore  her  tone  and  spirits. 

Brooke's  eyes  flashed  fire,  Scotch  fire  not  easily  put 
out  when  once  it  was  kindled;  but  Mrs.  Lawton  only 
grew  a  shade  more  pale,  and  said  in  her  soft,  slow  accent, 
looking  steadily  at  her  friend,  "  Susan,  you  are  forget- 
ting Adam.  How  could  I  both  go  abroad  and  give  him 
the  care  he  will  always  need  while  he  hves  ?  " 

For  some  reason  the  soft  answer  not  only  did  not  turn 
away  wrath,  but  augmented  it,  and  shortly  the  couple 
left;  but  alas  for  the  treachery  of  portieres  —  scarcely 
were  the  pair  in  the  hall  when,  forgetting  that  it  was  not 
a  door  that  closed  behind  them,  Mrs.  Ashton  said,  in 
an  echoing  whisper,  "Care,  while  he  lives  indeed  — 


TRANSITION  123 

it's  just  as  I  said  the  other  day,  if  Adam  Lawton  had 
only  died  at  once  and  had  done  with  it,  those  women, 
instead  of  being  beggars,  could  have  lived  in  luxury  on 
his  life  insurance !  " 

With  the  harsh,  insistent  vibration  of  a  graphophone, 
the  words  stung  the  ears  of  mother  and  daughter,  who 
were  standing  where  their  guests  had  left  them.  A  look 
of  horror  froze  Mrs.  Lawton's  face  to  the  immobihty 
of  a  statue,  while  in  Brooke's  brain,  still  tingling  with 
the  other  blow,  the  thoughts  were  suddenly  clarified  as 
if  by  fire,  and  she  never  noticed  that  the  Cub  had  come 
in  and  was  looking  from  one  to  the  other  in  alarm. 

"It  is  monstrous!"  she  choked  out,  clasping  her 
mother  in  her  strong  arms.  "Oh,  mother,  mother!  do 
not  look  so,  as  if  you  were  turning  to  stone!  You  shall 
not  be  torn  from  father;  we  will  go  together  and  keep 
together!  Listen,  you  and  he  desired  me  and  brought 
me  into  your  world  for  love,  and  took  the  responsibility 
of  me  when  I  was  helpless ;  now  you  shall  come  into 
mine  and  be  my  children,  and  I  will  bear  the  responsi- 
bihty  for  that  same  love.  Father  needs  country  quiet; 
so  be  it;  we  will  take  him  home  to  Gilead.  It  is  my 
home,  my  very  own  in  deed  and  truth,  given  so  long 
ago  that  no  creditor  can  grumble.  I  never  have  lived 
in  the  country,  and  I  know  nothing,  you  may  say.  What 
I  do  not  know  I  can  learn.  At  worst,  with  what  I  have 
we  can  be  secure  somehow  for  a  year.      Cousin  Keith 


124  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

has  lived  and  worked  there,  so  can  I,  and  if  only  Adam 
will  stand  by  me,  I  cannot  fail.  But  you  must  trust 
me  like  a  child,  as  I  did  you,  and  do  not  question." 

A  look  of  wondrous  joy  crept  into  the  mother's  eyes, 
but  with  it  her  strength  gave  way,  and  when  she  tot- 
tered and  would  have  fallen,  it  was  Adam  who  caught 
her,  and  as  he  held  her  with  tender  awkwardness, 
nodding  at  his  sister  as  if  in  answer  to  her  appeal, 
he  jerked  out,  "You  bet  your  life.  Sis,  I'll  stand  by  the 
crowd,  and  won't  it  just  suit  Pam  and  me  to  get  out  of 
town!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  RETURN 

It  was  the  loth  of  January.  At  Gilead  winter  had 
been  a-masking  all  through  December,  and  played  the 
part  of  a  fantastic  snow-draped  Columbine  in  the  Christ- 
mas pantomime  where,  the  North  Wind  being  piqued 
to  keep  his  distance,  she  was  wooed  by  the  South  and 
West  Winds  alternately  amid  a  setting  of  warm  noons, 
dramatic  sunsets,  and  moonlight  nights  of  electric  clear- 
ness, to  the  song  of  the  Moosatuk's  mad  racing. 

With  January  the  reign  of  the  North  W^ind  began  in  a 
wrath  of  sleet  and  ice  that  bound  forest,  field,  and  river 
also  in  cruel,  gUttering  shackles,  covering  the  wayside 
granaries  and  driving  the  faithful  birds  of  the  season, 
hooded  and  clad  in  sober  garb  of  grays  and  russet,  to 
beg  from  door  to  door  Uke  mendicant  friars  of  old. 

Even  before  its  close,  each  day  of  the  New  Year  had 
been  checked  by  a  double  cross  from  the  calendar  that 
hung  on  the  door  of  Keith  West's  pantry,  as  if  by  its 
complete  obHteration  she  hoped  to  hurry  time  itself. 

Waiting  for  others  to  act  had  never  before  fallen  to 
Miss  Keith's  lot  in  life.    For  twenty  years  her  comings 

125 


126  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

and  goings,  her  waking  and  sleeping,  and  even  the  set- 
ting of  the  first  spring  brood  of  embryo  broilers  had 
depended  upon  herself  alone,  for  she  had  long  since  sub- 
stituted an  incubator  for  that  coy  and  freakish  feathered 
female  known  as  a  setting  hen.  Consequently  this 
delay  at  the  very  outset  of  a  new  order  of  things  found 
her  restless  and  in  no  very  amiable  mood.  Also  Judith 
Dow  had  written  that,  as  Miss  Keith  had  promised  to 
come  the  first  of  the  year,  she  had  reserved  her  room  and 
must  charge  her  accordingly,  which,  as  the  whole  affair 
was  upon  a  nominal  basis,  irritated  her  not  a  little. 

In  writing  to  Adam  Lawton  of  the  determination  to 
leave  the  farm,  the  ist  of  January  had  been  the  date 
she  had  set  for  starting  for  Boston  en  route  to  Matri- 
mony, and  when,  a  short  time  after  Christmas,  Brooke 
had  combined  her  reply  to  the  unanswered  letter  with 
the  announcement  that  she  herself  expected  to  go  to 
take  charge  of  the  place  as  near  the  ist  of  January  as 
possible,  Miss  Keith  had  hastened  to  complete  her 
arrangements. 

Brooke  had  written  concisely,  yet  with  entire  frank- 
ness; but  even  then  Miss  Keith  did  not  compass  the 
exact  condition  of  her  cousin's  affairs,  or  understand 
that  as  far  as  his  relation  with  the  world  stood  he  was 
as  helpless  and  irresponsible  as  the  day  of  his  birth. 
She  knew  that  money  and  health  had  been  lost, 
but  fancied  that,  after  a  few  months'  retirement,  more 


THE  RETURN  127 

voluntary  than  enforced,  as  had  been  the  case  with 
one  or  two  families  of  the  wealthy  summer  colony  at 
Stonebridge,  every  one  concerned  would  swing  back  to 
the  old  pace  again. 

Nevertheless  she  took  great  pride  in  making  the  evi- 
dence of  her  thrifty  stewardship  apparent  on  every  side. 
The  hired  man  had  been  well-nigh  frantic  at  the  number 
of  times  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  whitewash  spots 
that  had  dried  thin  in  the  cow  and  poultry  houses.  A 
fringe  of  unthreshed  rye  straw  made  a  lambrequin  over 
the  entrance  to  the  stall  of  Billy,  the  general  utility  horse 
with  the  long,  common-sense  face.  The  front  gate, 
always  removed  from  its  hinges  at  the  coming  of  frost, 
had  been  scrubbed  before  being  stowed  away  in  the 
attic,  and  the  plant  boxes  that  edged  the  front  porch 
and  held  nasturtiums  in  summer  were  filled  with  small 
cedar  bushes  and  branches  of  coral  winterberry  in 
remembrance  of  Brooke's  youthful  love  of  such  things. 

The  outside  condition  of  things  gave  Miss  Keith 
much  more  satisfaction  than  did  the  inside  arrange- 
ment of  the  house.  Her  only  concern  about  them  was 
lest  the  mischievous  boy  should  upset  everything  and 
doubtless  stone  the  cows,  torment  Laura,  the  sedate 
bam  cat,  and  turn  the  laying  hens  out  in  the  cold ;  for 
to  her  spinster  mentality  if  there  was  a  dubious  quantity, 
it  was  the  growing  boy,  the  last  straw  under  which  the 
many-humped  back  of  female  patience  must  break. 


128  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

She  had  considered  the  house  the  pink  of  perfection 
until  she  peopled  it  with  New  Yorkers  accustomed  to 
every  luxury,  and  then  the  gay  flowers  of  the  chintz  slip 
covers  that  hid  the  haircloth  gloom  of  the  parlour  fur- 
niture began  to  pale  and  fail  to  hold  their  own,  and  the 
texture  of  the  freshly  laundered  dimity  curtains,  those 
upstairs  having  wide  hems,  while  those  below  were  edged 
with  tatting  of  the  wheel  pattern,  seemed  to  grow  coarser 
as  the  days  went  by. 

And  all  the  while  that  she  bustled  to  and  fro,  now 
in  the  cellar  to  see  that  the  stones  had  not  slipped  in  the 
pork  barrel  and  allowed  the  meat  to  rise  above  the  brine, 
then  to  the  attic  to  be  sure  that  her  personal  possessions 
of  bedding,  linen,  and  tableware,  neatly  put  up  in  barrel, 
bale,  and  bundle  until  her  marriage  and  final  move,  did 
not  take  up  more  room  than  was  necessary,  —  Tatters 
followed  her,  either  so  close  to  heel  that  he  hterally 
seemed  to  dog  her  footsteps,  or  else  sitting  a  Httle  way 
apart  with  his  eyes  fastened  upon  her  with  a  blended 
look  of  dread  and  reproach.  Then  she  would  often  drop 
whatever  she  held  and  raising  his  face  (yes.  Tatters  had 
a  face,  not  a  "muzzle")  between  her  hands,  plead  with 
him  to  tell  her  what  he  made  of  it  all  and  if  he  beUeved 
she  could  be  happy  away  from  Gilead,  and  if  he  thought 
that  he  could  follow  any  one  else  to  market,  allow  her 
to  shake  out  his  mat,  and  choose  juicy  bones  that  were 
not  too  hard  for  his  middle-aged  teeth.    All  of  which 


THE  RETURN  129 

showed  that  she  did  not  rejoice  in  thought  at  the  First 
Cause  as  completely  as  would,  under  the  circumstances, 
have  been  desirable ;  while  Tatters  understood  that 
this  was  not  the  accustomed  afiFectionate  babble  or  the 
confidential  discourse  of  everyday  doings  in  which  he 
was  frequently  consulted,  and  he  would  raise  his  head 
and  give,  not  his  usual  howl  belonging  to  moonlight 
nights,  but  a  strange  bay  Uke  an  echo,  deep  down  in 
his  throat. 

Three  times  in  those  ten  bleak  January  days  had  she 
given  what  she  declared  aloud  to  be  a  "final  dusting"  to 
each  room.  Three  times  had  she  baked  bread,  cake, 
pies,  and  custard  for  the  invalid  (no,  the  third  time  she 
made  boiled  soft  custard  to  break  the  monotony),  and 
then  hovered  between  the  dread  of  waste  and  surfeit  in 
consuming  the  food. 

However,  on  the  tenth  day  of  waiting  her  spirits  rose, 
for  soon  after  breakfast  Robert  Stead  stopped  on  his 
way  back  from  Gilead,  whither  he  rode  daily,  rain  or 
shine,  to  the  post-office,  as  the  rural  carrier  went  to 
Windy  Hill  but  once  a  day  and  that  in  early  afternoon, 
to  say  that  he  had  just  heard  from  Dr.  Russell  and  ex- 
pected him  up  from  Oaklands  that  afternoon,  as  he  was 
coming  to  meet  Adam  Lawton  at  the  request  of  his  New 
York  physician,  in  order  to  see  the  invalid  safely 
established  after  his  precarious  journey. 

In  addition  to  this  bit  of  news.  Stead  brought  a  fine 


I30  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

pair  of  wild  ducks,  shot  a  few  days  previous,  farther 
down  where  the  river  was  not  ice-locked,  and  he  had 
taken  the  wise  precaution  of  having  them  dressed  by 
Jos^,  his  Mexican  man  of  all  work,  for  in  Miss  Keith's 
agitation  at  the  knowledge  that  her  kinsfolk  were  actu- 
ally coming  that  very  day,  the  task  of  picking  pin- 
feathers  would  have  been  impossible. 

In  fact  her  hands  trembled  so,  as  she  took  the  basket 
from  Stead,  that,  contrary  to  his  habit  of  taciturnity,  he 
questioned  her  closely  as  to  her  health,  and  if  he  could 
help  her  in  any  preparations,  and  finally,  after  leading 
Manfred  to  the  stable,  followed  Miss  Keith  into  the 
house  only  to  find  her  in  the  kitchen  seated,  as  Dr. 
Russell  had  some  months  before,  with  her  face  pressed 
against  Tatters'  ears  in  a  vain  effort  to  stifle  her  sobs. 

"I've  wished  for  kin  so  long  that  now  they  are  coming 
it  doesn't  seem  as  if  I  could  bear  it,"  she  said  by  way 
of  explanation.  "If  it  was  only  Adam  and  Brooke,  I 
wouldn't  mind;  I've  sampled  her,  and  though  she's 
full  of  spunk,  she's  as  pleasant  as  if  she  never  had 
a  cent,  but  to  think  of  that  high-spirited  southern 
woman,  perhaps  lording  it  over  me,  it's  too  much,  even 
though  I'm  only  going  to  hold  over  a  day  or  two  to  give 
them  the  lay  of  the  land,  as  it  were.  Then  like  as  not 
their  city  help  will  take  me  for  a  servant,  for  they'll  not 
likely  bring  less  than  two  for  all  the  cooking  and  the 
waiting  that  they  are  used  to,  which  reminds  me  that 


THE  RETURN  131 

they'll  need  to  use  the  living  room  to  dine  in,  for  of  course 
they  won't  eat  in  the  kitchen  as  I've  done,  and  what 
with  turning  the  south  parlour  into  a  bedroom  (which 
it  was  in  his  mother's  day)  for  Adam,  so  that  he  can  get 
out  on  the  porch  easily,  there  won't  be  any  best  room  at 
all. 

"Would  you  help  me  move  the  table  and  dresser  with 
the  glass  door  into  the  Uving  room  ?  Larsen  bangs  fur- 
niture so  when  he  does  it,  and  the  deal  table  from  the 
summer  kitchen  can  come  here  for  the  help." 

Jumping  up  —  "There's  some  one  knocking  now! 
Dear  me,  it's  the  Bisbee  boy  with  a  telegram.  Open  it, 
do,  and  give  him  a  quarter  from  the  shelf  by  the  clock, 
for  riding  up  with  it,"  and  Miss  Keith  sank  back  in  the 
rocking  chair  and  closed  her  eyes  like  some  one  about 
to  have  a  tooth  drawn,  who  dreaded  the  sight  of  the 
instruments. 

Silent  Stead  opened  the  blue  envelope  with  the  studied 
deliberation  with  which  he  performed  every  act  of  life, 
except  riding  Manfred,  at  which  time  the  two  abandoned 
themselves  to  mutual  impulse.  Shaking  out  the  sheet, 
he  read  slowly :  — 

"New  York,  January  10,  1904. 
"To  Miss  Keith  West,  Gilead. 

"  Please  meet  us  with  closed  carriage  at  Stonebridge, 
two-thirty.    Baggage  to  Gilead. 

"Brooke  Lawton." 


132  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"  To-day  at  two-thirty ! "  ejaculated  Miss  Keith,  who, 
mind  you,  had  been  more  than  ready  for  ten  days; 
"then  there's  no  time  to  fix  up  the  living  room,  or  do 
more  than  sweep  and  tidy  up  and  get  dirmer,  —  they 
will  have  to  put  up  with  the  kitchen  for  once.  Why  do 
they  get  out  at  Stonebridge?  It  is  three  miles  farther 
than  Gilead  Station,  and  a  closed  carriage  means  one  of 
Bisbee's  hacks,  for  the  rockaway  must  go  too  for  the 
help.  Has  that  boy  of  his  gone?"  Stead  hurried  to 
the  road,  but  the  boy  was  disappearing  down  the  third 
hill  at  a  pace  that  forbade  recall. 

"I  will  go  down  and  order  the  carriage  for  you," 
Stead  volunteered,  "and  tell  them  to  put  in  hot  stones 
and  plenty  of  rugs ;  it's  a  cold  drive  from  Stonebridge, 
but  they  come  that  way  doubtless  because  the  express 
stops  there  and  not  at  Gilead.  They  could  not  bring 
a  man  in  Mr.  Lawton's  condition  so  long  a  journey  in 
a  way  train. " 

"If  you  would,  I  should  be  so  relieved,  and  one  thing 
more.  I  know  you  make  a  point  of  keeping  away  from 
folks,  especially  women,  and  these  are  strangers  to  you ; 
but  they'll  be  so  worried  Ukely  as  not  they'll  hardly 
notice  you.  Now  would  you  be  so  good  as  to  meet  them 
and  see  they  find  the  carriage  and  get  properly  started,, 
and  tell  Bisbee  to  keep  to  the  lower  road  in  spite  of  the 
trolley  until  they  reach  the  third  hill?  It's  far  less  jolty 
and  better  shovelled  out. 


THE  RETURN  133 

"You  see  Brooke  says,  'Please  meet  us,'  and  it  doesn't 
look  hospitable  to  send  an  empty  hack,  as  if  it  was  to 
meet  a  funeral ;  besides  which  there  wouldn't  be  room, 
and  I  can't  spare  the  time,  though,  as  I  suppose  the  boy 
is  small,  they  could  set  him  between." 

"Yes,  I  will  go  to  meet  them,"  answered  Stead,  hesi- 
tating a  moment  and  still  looking  at  the  telegram,  which 
he  folded  absent-mindedly  and  dropped  into  his  pocket. 
"I  do  not  think  you  need  fear  seeing  Mrs.  Lawton.  I 
knew  her  family  and  met  her  once  long  ago;  she  is  a 
gentlewoman  to  her  finger-tips,  and  such  are  never  over- 
bearing," and  after  making  this  unusually  long  speech 
Silent  Stead  went  out  for  his  horse,  Tatters  bounding  in 
front  of  him  joyously,  for  dogs  and  children  always 
swarmed  about  the  lonely  man  whenever  they  had  the 
chance,  and  they  alone.  Dr.  Russell  excepted,  were 
welcome  at  his  retreat  on  Windy  Hill. 

Like  many  capable  people,  who  fuss  aimlessly  when 
there  is  really  httle  to  do,  but  bring  their  best  efforts 
to  bear  swiftly  under  stress.  Miss  Keith  set  in  motion 
certain  necessary  preparations  for  an  afternoon  meal, 
which  should  be  a  compromise  between  a  country  dinner 
and  supper,  and  then  went  to  the  south  parlour,  until  a 
few  days  ago  her  pride  and  the  most  precise  best  room  in 
the  neighbourhood,  and  sitting  quietly  down  with  hands 
folded  in  her  lap,  took  a  final  survey. 

Something  had  suddenly  changed  her  attitude  toward 


134  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

the  room.  She  ceased  thinking  of  it  as  her  state  apart- 
ment, sacred  to  sewing  society  meetings  and  the  more 
formal  and  rare  social  function  of  a  high  tea  to  welcome 
the  wife  of  a  new  minister,  and  now  looked  at  it  as  it  was 
to  be,  the  bedroom  to  which  her  Cousin  Adam  was  com- 
ing for  rest,  and  as  she  sat  there  it  occurred  to  her  that 
it  was  the  very  room  in  which  he  had  been  bom. 

Then  there  stole  over  her  one  of  those  subde  inspira- 
tions called  intuition,  with  which  the  Creator  has  blessed 
woman  as  a  token  of  sympathy  with  their  weaknesses 
and  a  reward  for  much  unspoken  suflfering,  and  thereby 
more  than  bridged  the  difference  of  her  physical  ine- 
quaUty  with  man.  If  the  hope  was  to  bring  Adam 
Lawton  back  to  himself,  what  could  be  more  suitable 
than  that  the  surroundings  should  be  those  of  his  early 
youth? 

Ringing  the  dinner  bell  out  of  the  back  door,  the 
sign  to  Larsen  that  he  was  wanted,  Miss  Keith  began 
by  taking  the  decorated  "fireboard"  from  before  the 
wide  fireplace,  and  brushing  up  the  fragments  of  swal- 
low's nests  that  had  fallen  down  since  the  regular 
autunm  clearing.  Going  to  a  deep  closet  under  the 
back  stairs,  she  pulled  out  a  large  bundle  wrapped  in 
papers  and  cloth,  which  being  unrolled  gave  forth  a  pair 
of  long-necked  andirons,  with  oval  head-pieces  and  curi- 
ously curved  legs,  made  of  what  was  known  in  the  old 
days  as  princess  metal,  a  wann-hued  alloy  of  copper  and 


THE  RETURN  135 

brass.  Setting  these  in  the  fireplace,  she  directed  Lar- 
sen,  who  now  appeared  in  the  carpet  slippers  without 
which  he  never  dared  come  indoors,  to  bring  in  logs  and 
lay  a  substantial  fire  with  backlog,  forestick,  catstick, 
and  kindling,  such  as  would  outlast  a  night,  instead  of 
the  mere  "  splutter  blaze  that  needs  tending  like  a  spoiled 
child,"  as  she  called  the  modem  wood  fire. 

Next  she  had  the  ornate  and  hideous  black-walnut 
bed,  a  product  of  the  "ugly  sixties,"  that  she  had 
long  regarded  as  a  patent  of  respectabiUty,  unscrewed, 
taken  up  garret,  and  put  under  the  eaves,  from  which  she 
unpacked  the  frame  of  a  slender-Umbed  four-poster  of 
mellow,  imstained  mahogany.  The  Wests  had  always 
been  of  plain  farming  stock,  and  had  never  possessed 
carved  mahogany  or  beds  of  the  famous  pineapple  pat- 
tern. Dull  and  lustreless  as  was  the  wood,  she  set  the 
man  to  work  with  rags  and  a  compound  of  beeswax, 
oil,  and  turpentine,  of  which  she  always  kept  a  jar  for 
brightening  spotted  furniture.  Meanwhile  she  untied 
a  bundle  shaped  like  a  pillow,  and  carefully  unfolded 
curtains,  valance,  and  tester  of  dimity,  finished  with 
a  cross-stitch  border,  mended  carefully  here  and  there, 
and  yellow  with  age. 

Looking  at  the  clock,  which  had  not  yet  struck  ten, 
she  turned  the  fabric  over  carefully,  evidently  weighing 
something  in  her  mind,  the  while  saying  aloud,  "Yes, 
I'U  simply  scald  them,  and  iron  them  out  with  a  bit  of 


136  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

starch.  To  bleach  them  would  take  weeks,  and  besides 
this  old  dimity  will  never  stand  the  strain. " 

While  the  irons  were  heating  she  returned  to  her  re- 
constructive attempt.  The  canvas  bottom  was  laced 
firmly  to  the  bed  frame,  the  bedding  adjusted  with 
mathematical  precision,  and  finished  with  a  cheer- 
ful patchwork  quilt  from  one  of  the  attic  chests.  From 
the  floor  of  her  own  room  she  dragged  a  great  rug  made 
of  rags  in  the  herring-bone  pattern,  and  spread  it  over 
the  somewhat  faded  parlour  carpet,  which  it  concealed, 
all  but  a  narrow  border..  A  work-stand,  with  fat 
stomach  and  many  little  drawers,  and  an  old  chintz- 
covered  EngHsh  arm-chair,  with  high  back  and  head- 
rest flaps  at  the  top,  were  also  brought  to  light  and  put 
in  place,  while  the  haircloth  parlour  set,  in  its  flowered 
outer  covering,  suggestive  of  a  gay  domino  worn  over 
ministerial  clothes,  was  distributed  in  living  room  and 
hall,  the  long  sofa  being  obliged  to  seek  refuge  under 
the  plant  window  in  the  angle  of  the  kitchen  itself. 

Twelve  o'clock  saw  the  bed  draperies  ironed  and 
fastened  in  place,  the  yellow  hue  of  the  dimity  har- 
monizing with  the  painted  woodwork  and  blending  with 
the  wall  paper  of  a  cheerful  nosegay  pattern  that  Brooke 
had  chosen  several  years  before,  much  to  Miss  Keith's 
disappointment,  as  at  the  time  embossed  papers  with 
effects  of  gold,  silver,  and  copper  were  much  in  vogue 
in  Gilead. 


THE  RETURN  137 

Still  not  quite  satisfied,  Miss  Keith  swept  into  her 
apron  all  the  accumulations  of  little  meaningless  noth- 
ings that  covered  table  and  mantel-shelf.  Seeking  for 
something  with  which  to  replace  them,  she  gathered 
half  a  dozen  books  from  the  old  desk  case  in  the  Uving 
room,  and  set  a  pair  of  iron  candlesticks  as  sentinels  on 
the  comers  of  the  mantel-shelf,  to  guard  a  row  of  polished 
shells  of  various  sorts. 

Raising  the  flap  of  the  table  '^cir  the  west  window, 
that  coming  between  two  closets  formed  a  small  bay. 
Miss  Keith  placed  half  a  dozen  geraniums  upon  it,  that 
were  rather  overcrowding  the  plant  window  in  the 
kitchen.  Satisfied  with  that  quarter  of  the  room,  she  was 
haunted  by  the  partial  recollection  of  some  bit  of  fur- 
niture that  had  once  filled  in  the  angle  between  chimney 
and  door  leading  to  the  back  stairs,  yet  refused  to  be- 
come definite.  But  presently  the  veil  lifted,  and  going 
to  the  attic  for  the  twentieth  time  that  morning,  she  re- 
turned followed  by  a  bumping  sound,  one  bump  for  each 
stair  of  the  two  flights,  twenty-six  in  all,  and  presently 
the  light  of  the  fire  that  had  kindled  slowly  cast  side- 
wise  glances  at  a  mahogany  cradle,  from  under  whose 
hood  three  generations  of  little  Wests  had  first  gazed 
out  into  Ufe. 

With  a  sigh  of  content  Miss  Keith  folded  her  arms, 
searched  every  nook  in  the  room  with  eyes  into  which 
there  crept  a  moisture,  bom  neither  of  nervousness 


138  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

^nor  of  grief,  but  of  an  emotion  in  which  race  instinct 
and  true  womanliness  of  heart  were  blended,  and 
as,  the  circle  of  the  room  being  rounded,  she  looked 
beyond  into  the  square  hallway,  her  eyes  stopped,  as  if 
asking  for  courage,  upon  the  face  of  the  tall  clock,  above 
which  a  full-rigged  brig  had  been  sailing  for  more  than 
a  hundred  years  toward  the  harbour  it  never  reached. 
At  the  same  moment  it  struck  the  six  strokes  of  the  three- 
quarter  hour,  and  the  words  it  said  sounded  like  "Well 
done!  well  done!  well  done!" 

In  January,  though  the  days  have  begun  to  lengthen 
minute  by  minute,  dusk  begins  to  weave  its  shadows 
soon  after  four  o'clock,  and  this  fabric  was  blending 
hill  and  river  in  its  impenetrable  gray  when  Miss 
Keith's  keen  eyes,  now  strained  with  watching,  saw  a 
man  on  horseback  coming  up  the  second  hill,  while 
farther  down,  turning  from  the  cut  that  connected  the 
upper  and  lower  roads,  two  vehicles  could  be  seen  mov- 
ing slowly,  the  rockaway  being  in  the  lead,  but  as  to 
their  occupants,  nothing  was  discernible. 

Throwing  a  heavy  shawl  about  her.  Miss  Keith 
reached  the  gate  at  the  same  moment  as  Robert  Stead, 
who  flung  himself  from  his  horse  the  better  to  answer 
her  sudden  fusillade  of  questions.  Tatters,  who  had 
followed  her  to  the  porch,  paused  with  one  paw  raised, 
sniffed  the  wind,  and  came  no  farther,  in  spite  of  the 
sight  of  his  friend. 


THE  RETURN  139 

"Have  they  come?  Does  Adam  look  badly?  Can 
he  walk  ?  How  much  help  did  they  bring  ?  Where  are 
the  trunks?  Did  they  have  them  taken  off  at  Stone- 
bridge  and  changed  to  the  way  train  for  Gilead?" 

Smiling  in  spite  of  himself,  Stead  made  answer,  count- 
ing on  his  fingers  as  he  did  so  that  he  might  check  off  the 
questions :  — 

"  The  family  have  all  come.  Mr.  Lawton  seems  very 
ill  and  wan,  but  as  I  have  not  seen  him  for  many  years, 
I  cannot  speak  of  his  looks  comparatively.  I  do  not 
think  that  he  can  walk ;  the  porters  carried  him  from  the 
car,  and  his  wheel-chair  is  lashed  behind  the  coach. 
They  have  brought  no  maids.  Their  luggage  will  be  at 
Gilead  to-night,  and  Bisbee  has  agreed  to  deUver  it  in 
the  morning.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lawton,  with  Dr.  Rus- 
sell, who  came  on  with  them,  it  seems,  are  in  the  coach, 
and  Miss  Brooke  and  her  brother  are  in  the  rockaway. 
I  will  house  Manfred  for  a  few  moments  if  I  may,  so 
that  I  may  help  the  doctor  get  his  patient  safely  indoors." 

Half  turning  about.  Stead  hesitated  a  moment  and 
then  added  hurriedly,  but  with  much  emphasis,  "For 
God's  sake  get  indoors.  Miss  West,  and  don't  stand 
staring  down  the  road  like  that,  nor  mention  maids,  nor 
ask  a  thousand  questions  before  they  are  fairly  inside 
the  door.  No  one  knows  just  how  much  Adam  Law- 
ton  remembers  or  understands ;  but  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter are  neither  dumb  nor  blind,  and  both  look  spent" 


140  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

And  Miss  Keith,  too  conscience-stricken  to  be  angry 
at  the  rating  from  an  almost  stranger,  fled  in  and  closed 
the  door  before  the  rockaway  came  over  the  last  hill 
grade,  and  paused,  as  all  vehicles  did,  on  the  long 
plateau  that  reached  and  passed  the  house. 

Adam  junior,  long,  lanky,  and  sandy  of  hair  and 
skin,  got  out  and  swung  his  sister  to  the  ground. 
Something  was  bundled  up  under  one  of  his  arms, 
but  head  and  ears  alone  were  visible.  "Grandpa 
Lawton  all  over  again,  Scotch  hair  and  all!  and  he's 
brought  one  of  those  snub-nosed  dogs,  as  I  live!" 
ejaculated  Miss  Keith,  from  behind  the  curtain  that 
screened  the  glass  half  of  the  door,  at  the  same  time 
wondering  if  the  proper  moment  had  arrived  for 
hospitality.  Brooke  and  young  Adam  waited  for  the 
coach  to  draw  up  before  they  even  looked  houseward, 
and  then  Dr.  Russell,  with  serious  cheerfulness,  helped 
Mrs.  Lawton,  whose  face  Miss  Keith  could  scarcely  see 
for  the  load  of  pillows  that  she  handed  to  her  daughter. 
Stead  and  the  doctor  deftly  bore  out  their  burden,  and 
Miss  Keith  opened  the  door,  stepping  within  its  shadow. 
So  Adam  Lawton  came  home  again,  surrounded  by 
his  family. 

Brooke  entered  first,  close  by  her  father,  and  spying 
Miss  Keith,  there  was  a  single  moment  of  strained, 
painful  silence,  but  only  a  moment,  for,  dropping  her 
pillows  and  holding  out  her  hand  with  a  little  smile  in 


THE  RETURN  141 

which  the  doctor  and  Stead  alone  discerned  a  pathetic 
droop,  her  silver  voice  said,  "Here  I  am,  Cousin  Keith; 
I've  come  back  to  my  River  Kingdom,  and  I've  more 
than  kept  my  promise,  by  bringing  all  the  others 
with  me;"  then  the  tension  relaxed,  every  one  spoke, 
though  quietly,  and  they  carried  Adam  Lawton  into  the 
south  parlour,  where  the  fire  burned  upon  the  wide 
hearth  as  steadily  as  if  it  had  never  been  extinguished 
in  all  those  intervening  years,  and  set  him  in  the  old 
chintz-covered  chair. 

Miss  Keith  held  back  in  stiff  reserve,  and  Mrs.  Law- 
ton  followed,  at  first  blindly.  Then,  as  her  eyes,  focussed 
to  the  firelight,  took  in  the  details  of  the  room  in  one 
swift  glance,  —  bed  hangings,  quilt,  cradle,  and  all,  — 
she  caught  her  breath  and  turned  toward  Miss  Keith 
with  arms  extended,  and  whispered,  "Ah,  Cousin  Keith, 
how  did  you  know?  —  how  did  you  think  of  it?  They 
say  that  he  may  come  back  to  himself  by  the  long  way 
of  childhood ;  and  how  could  he  better  do  that  than  here 
in  his  mother's  room?"  And  the  head,  with  its  lovely 
crown  of  silver,  rested  against  the  taller  woman's  bosom, 
and  that  swift  touch  of  sympathy  bound  them  doubly 
as  kin. 

"That's  a  bully  fire  and  no  fake,"  said  the  Cub,  sud- 
denly, after  examining  the  long,  thick  log  with  the  toe 
of  his  shoe;  then  he  followed  Miss  Keith  toward  the 
kitchen,  led  both  by  curiosity  and  the  smell  of  the 
supper  in  preparation. 


142  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"Where  is  that  dog?"  asked  Miss  Keith,  abruptly. 
"  I  don't  know  what  Tatters  will  say  to  him,  so  you  had 
best  not  bring  him  in  too  sudden. " 

"That's  what  the  man  said,"  replied  the  Cub,  cheer- 
fully, "  but  your  dog  couldn't  help  liking  Pam;  she'd 
make  friends  with  a  hon." 

"She.     Oh,  that's  different,"  sniffed  Miss  Keith. 

For  the  moment  Dr.  Russell  was  busy  in  taking  Adam 
Lawton's  pulse,  and  when  Brooke  turned  to  speak  to 
Robert  Stead  he  had  silently  sUpped  away.  "Never 
mind,  Miss  Brooke,"  said  the  doctor,  who  read  her 
thoughts;  "Stead  is  a  strange  fellow,  though  a  man  to 
be  trusted,  but  I  know  of  no  more  bitter  punishment  to 
him  than  verbal  thanks.  You  may  need  to  remember 
this.  I  found  out  long  ago  that  the  best  gratitude  that 
any  one  may  show  him  is  to  let  him  have  a  motive  for 
doing  something,  no  matter  how  trivial,  for  some  one 
else,  —  lack  of  motive  is  his  curse." 

Then  Dr.  Russell  also  passed  out  into  the  living  room, 
and  the  three  were  left  alone. 

"Mother,  are  you  glad  that  we  have  come?"  asked 
Brooke,  going  to  her  with  that  new  look  of  complete 
understanding  that  each  had  worn  toward  the  other 
since  that  fateful  night  when  Brooke  had  decided. 

"Glad,  my  daughter?  I  cannot  say  how  thankful! 
Oh,  if  only  I  could  be  sure  that  we  could  stay!" 


THE  RETURN  143 

"No  ifs,  mother,"  said  Brooke,  gently,  her  eyes  open- 
ing wider  as  she  gazed  into  the  fire.  "You  know  in  our 
new  creed  of  work  there  is  to  be  plenty  of  love  and  faith 
and  hope,  but  not  a  single  if.  In  fact,  I  always  did  think 
if  a  poor,  leaky  word,  that  let  people  escape  from  all 
sorts  of  nice  promises ;  now  we  will  simply  banish  it,  — 
you  and  I  and  Adam  and  —  father. " 

Lowering  her  eyes  to  the  hearth-rug,  she  became  aware 
of  a  shaggy  form  stretched  out  there — Tatters,  couchanty 
with  his  solemn  eyes  fastened  upon  hers,  watching  their 
every  movement  questioningly.  In  answer  to  his  ap- 
peal, Brooke  knelt  on  the  rug  before  him,  raising  him 
so  that  his  paws  rested  on  her  shoulders,  and  whispered, 
"We  are  of  your  people.  Tatters,  and  we  are  so  tired 
and  lonely.  Won't  you  love  us,  and  let  us  live  here 
with  you?" 

Then  Tatters,  who  had  not  yet  moved  his  eyes  from 
Brooke's,  touched  the  tip  of  her  nose  with  his  tongue  as 
lightly  as  the  brush  of  a  moth's  wing,  and  dropping  his 
head  to  her  lap,  closed  his  eyes,  as  if  in  sign  of  complete 
confidence. 


CHAPTER  X 

TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF 

Not  even  the  insistent  sense  of  responsibility  and 
of  the  Hteral  work  of  hands  that  lay  before  her  could 
keep  Brooke  awake  that  first  night  in  the  homestead. 

With  the  fact  that  the  move  was  accomphshed  came 
a  feeling  of  relief,  as  if  a  heavy  weight  had  suddenly 
slipped  from  her  shoulders,  while  the  knowledge  that  Dr. 
Russell  had  elected  to  return  there  for  the  night  after 
supping  with  Robert  Stead  gave  her  a  wonderful  sense 
of  security. 

In  future  Adam  would  sleep  in  the  small  room  that 
opened  between  his  father's  and  the  back  entry,  but 
for  this  one  night  Miss  Keith  insisted  upon  occupying 
it  herself,  "So  that  you  can  all  sleep  with  both  eyes 
shut,  and  naught  but  dreams  to  trouble  you,"  she  insisted 
when  Brooke,  after  helping  wash  and  put  away  the 
tea  things,  had  proposed  to  discuss  certain  domestic 
questions. 

The  combination  of  a  jingle  of  sleigh  bells  and  the 
whirr-r  with  which  the  hall  clock  cleared  its  throat, 
preparatory  to  striking  nine,   were  the  first  sounds 

144 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF       145 

that  Brooke  heard  when  she  opened  her  eyes  upon 
the  new  surroundings,  and  then  suddenly  came  to  her- 
self, conscience-stricken  at  her  utter  oblivion  of  the  past 
ten  hours.  Going  to  the  east  window,  whence  the  sound 
of  bells  and  voices  came,  she  raised  the  shade  and 
peered  between  the  curtains.  This  window  faced  the 
front  road,  and  consequently  the  Moosatuk,  to  which 
it  was  parallel,  though  on  a  much  higher  level;  but 
all  that  could  now  be  seen  of  the  river  was  a  broad 
roadway,  smooth,  white,  and  level,  bounded  on  each 
side  by  rugged  banks,  set  thick  with  snow-draped 
hemlocks. 

A  light  snow  had  fallen  in  the  early  hours  of  the 
night,  not  a  sufficient  storm  to  drift  and  block  the 
roads,  but  merely  to  "poUsh  up  the  sleighing,"  as  the 
country  parlance  has  it,  while  its  magic  touch  lingered 
on  every  brier  and  roadside  weed  in  fantastic  crystals, 
which,  meeting  the  sunbeams,  radiated  dazzling  pris- 
matic colours. 

Stopping  outside  the  fence  was  Silent  Stead,  driving 
Manfred  before  an  odd-looking  low-running  sled, 
with  seat  in  front  and  box  for  merchandise  in  the  rear. 
With  him  was  Dr.  Russell,  engaged  in  earnest  conver- 
sation, and  also  Tatters,  who,  as  usual,  was  receiving 
his  share  of  attention,  as  he  stood  paws  on  the  edge  of 
the  seat,  the  expression  of  his  face,  ears,  and  tail  seem- 
ing to  vary  according  to  the  conversation  of  the  men. 


146  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Brooke  stood  there  spellbound,  the  muslin  draperies 
held  together  beneath  her  chin  like  a  garment,  and, 
as  she  looked,  the  Cub  came  up  the  lane  road  from 
the  bam,  carrying  the  beloved  Pam  held  high  on  one 
shoulder.  At  sight  of  Tatters,  the  pup  struggled  to  free 
herself,  and  began  to  bark  wildly.  Stead  evidently 
said  something  to  the  Cub,  for,  lowering  Pam  to  the 
sleigh  box,  he  stood  back,  and  watched  Tatters  walk 
about  the  box  at  a  little  distance,  his  tail  stiffly  erect,  and 
the  neck  ruff  that  belonged  to  the  coUie  half  of  him 
bristling  also.  As  he  drew  nearer,  Pam  leaned  forward 
on  her  outstretched  paws,  barked  saucily,  and  before 
the  dignified  old  dog  could  think  of  a  suitable  reply, 
outflanked  him  by  giving  him  an  enthusiastic  hck  on 
the  nose,  as  he  drew  near.  Next,  casting  herself  reck- 
lessly from  the  sleigh,  she  sUd  along  sidewise,  landing 
on  her  back  almost  between  his  front  feet,  with  her 
paws  held  up,  as  if  in  sign  of  complete  submission. 
Then,  as  the  men  laughed  heartily  at  these  tactful 
feminine  antics  in  a  puppy  of  only  six  months,  Pam 
began  running  to  and  fro  in  the  snow,  making  believe 
to  eat  large  mouthfuls  of  it,  and  kicking  it  into  the  air. 
For  a  moment  Tatters  hesitated,  and  then  bounded 
awkwardly  after  the  pup  as  fast  as  his  stiff  hind  leg 
would  let  him.  To  and  fro  they  ran  in  the  ecstasy 
of  puppy  play  until  Miss  Keith,  shawl  over  head, 
came  out  in  amazement  at  the  turn  of  things,  and 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF       147 

Tatters,  quite  spent  with  his  unusual  exercise,  lay- 
panting  in  the  snow,  Pam  following  suit.  For  there 
is  one  inflexible  dog  rule  —  that  as  soon  as  a  new- 
comer has  received  recognition,  he  must  yield  obe- 
dience to  the  dog  already  in  command;  that  is  dog 
law.  Thus  it  was  that  young  Hfe  came  to  Tatters 
with  the  new  arrivals,  even  as  it  had  come  to  the  home- 
stead itself. 

As  Miss  Keith  returned  to  the  house,  she  glanced  up 
at  Brooke's  window,  and,  seeing  the  face  between  the 
curtains,  she  nodded  and  waved  her  hand  gayly,  a 
totally  different  attitude  from  that  with  which  a  week 
or  even  a  day  before  she  would  have  greeted  any 
one  who  had  stayed  abed  until  nine  in  the  morning. 
Instantly  Brooke  turned  to  her  dressing,  and  though 
at  first  the  very  cold  water  made  her  gasp,  the  after 
glow  more  than  made  up  for  it. 

Brooke  could  not  conceal  her  satisfaction  at  the 
fact  that  some  breakfast  had  been  stored  away  for  her 
in  the  "hot  closet,"  and  the  mere  fact  placated  Miss 
Keith  more  than  a  thousand  apologies  for  oversleeping. 
Why  is  it  that  people,  women  especially,  feel  it  a  special 
point  of  virtue  to  suppress  or  deny  the  existence  of 
natural  appetites  that  to  be  truly  without  would  prove 
them  abnormal  ? 

When  both  Mrs.  Lawton  and  Brooke  had  duly 
learned  where  every  dish,  pot,  and  pan  belonged,  and 


148  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

had  seen  the  empty  closet  with  its  shelves  edged  with 
scalloped  paper  that  had  been  prepared  for  the  china 
they  had  brought,  —  one  complete  set,  a  Christmas 
present  from  Mr.  Dean  a  few  years  before,  having 
been  retained,  —  Mrs.  Lawton  returned  to  her  husband, 
and  Brooke  cornered  Miss  Keith  for  the  necessary 
business  conversation  which,  though  inevitable,  the 
older  woman  for  some  reason  was  seemingly  trying 
to  avoid. 

"In  a  minute  I'll  be  there,  and  we'll  have  it  all  out,'* 
she  said,  rushing  out  the  back  door  toward  the  chicken 
houses  with  a  dish-pan  of  scraps  that  she  had  deftly 
made  into  a  sort  of  stew,  while  she  talked,  by  the  addi- 
tion of  some  com  meal,  red  pepper,  and  hot  water, 
returning  in  a  very  few  minutes  with  the  empty  re- 
ceptacle. 

**That  reminds  me,  Brooke,  it's  best  the  next  three 
months  to  feed  them  their  hot  meal  in  the  morning, 
and  not  to  let  them  out  to  exercise  before  eleven,  and 
shut  them  up  tight,  sharp  at  three,  even  on  clear  days. 
If  you  don't,  they  get  so  cold  it  sort  of  discourages 
the  eggs  at  the  time  you  most  want  them.  I've  made 
out  a  list  of  my  steady  customers,  and  put  it  here  in 
the  drawer  along  with  the  farm  book,  in  case  you 
have  enough  eggs  to  peddle,  and  mind !  forty  cents 
a  dozen  is  my  steady  price  from  December  to  March. 
Don't  let  'em  cheat  you.    After  March  you  must  follow 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF       i4f 

market  rates.  The  farm  book  tells  just  what  I  plant, 
and  when,  and  what  I  naturally  expect  to  get  back. 
You  see  the  place  has  run  itself  fairly  well,  hired  man 
and  all,  though  you  won't  expect  it  to  now,  because 
you'll  need  eggs  to  eat,  and  pretty  much  all  the  milk 
and  butter  output,  while  your  father's  on  slop  food. 

"If  you'll  take  my  advice,  you'll  tend  the  fowls 
yourself,  and  don't  trust  the  hired  help.  And  I  don't 
think  you'd  best  start  the  incubator  this  year,  —  you'll 
have  enough  on  your  hands.  There  are  eight  or  ten 
hens  that  have  been  working  overtime  this  winter,  so 
I  expect  they  will  be  thankful  to  rest  their  legs,  and 
set  the  first  week  in  March.  By  the  way,  there's 
spring  latches  on  the  doors  of  the  roosting  and  laying 
houses,  —  my  idea  to  trap  light-fingered  folk  if  they 
get  in,  and  to  keep  the  fowls  from  straying.  Best 
be  careful  not  to  get  shut  in  without  the  keys  (they 
lie  in  the  box  by  the  clock  with  all  the  others,  plainly 
labelled).  What  money  there  is  to  be  had  from  poultry 
in  these  parts  comes  from  caring  for  it  yourself,  and 
you  can't  trust  hired  female  help,  'specially  when  it 
comes  from  the  city." 

"But,  Cousin  Keith,"  said  Brooke,  as  soon  as  she 
could  be  heard,  and  struggling  not  to  laugh  at  the 
outpouring  of  words,  which,  when  the  farm  was  the 
topic,  she  soon  found  flowed  as  steadily  as  Niagara, 
"I  do  not  expect  to  keep  female  help  from  the  city." 


15©         AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"Oh,  you  relied  on  getting  them  from  about  here, 
then?  Well,  I'm  afraid  you'll  find  it  a  scant  market, 
unless  you'll  put  up  with  coloured;  the  American 
girls  won't  live  out  in  families  where  they  set  them 
at  separate  tables,  and  I  don't  blame  them.  There's 
old  Mrs.  Peck,  she  sometimes  accommodates  for  a 
month  or  so,  as  a  working  housekeeper  in  confine- 
ment cases,  but  she  is  old-fashioned  New  England 
and  wouldn't  take  to  city  ways.  Why,  she  would  think 
her  soul  lost  if  she  used  prepared  flour  for  her  buck- 
wheat cakes  instead  of  setting  them  with  yeast,  and 
she  sticks  to  soda  and  cream  of  tartar,  which  she 
understands  the  workings  of,  for  all  baking,  as  she 
claims  that  baking  powder  isn't  plain  and  above 
board  and  so  is  to  be  avoided,  though  I  must  say 
her  tea  biscuits  took  the  prize  over  mine  at  the  Gor- 
don fair." 

Once  again  Brooke  shook  her  head,  this  time  not 
trying  to  suppress  her  laughter,  —  "I  have  no  intention 
of  keeping  any  household  help  whatsoever,"  she  man- 
aged to  say  at  last. 

Miss  Keith  stopped  short  with  a  gasp,  as  if  a  pail  of 
ice-water  had  been  poured  upon  her  head,  and  then 
said:  "No  hired  help!  then  who  is  to  do  the 
cooking,  and  what  wiU  you  eat  ?  If  this  was  Stone- 
bridge,  you  could  get  table  board  at  the  Inn,  though 
it  is  expensive,  and  the  people  that  often  stop  here 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF       151 

in  driving,  to  buy  my  fresh  cake,  complain  that  it  isn't 
satisfactory." 

"Cousin  Keith,  you  must  take  me  seriously.  I  do 
not  think  you  understood  the  letter  that  I  wrote,  telling 
you  we  were  coming  here.  /  am  going  to  do  the  work ; 
fifty  dollars  a  month  is  our  present  income,  and  I  do 
not  mean  to  touch  the  Uttle  principal  we  have,  but 
keep  it  in  case  of  accident,  —  at  least  until  I  am  in 
working  order  and  have  devised  some  plan  for  earning 
more.  All  I  hope  to  do  is  to  get  some  good  woman, 
like  your  Mrs.  Peck,  to  come  here  for  a  few  weeks  and 
teach  me  how  to  cook  plain  food  and  be  economical, 
for  it  is  the  other  part  that  I  understand,  and  learned 
at  Lucy  Dean's  cooking  class,  to  make  cake,  and 
candy,  and  all  the  little  supper  dishes  in  a  chafing-dish. 
Adam  has  already  promised  that  he  will  make  the 
fires  and  do  the  heavy  things,  so  you  see  I'm  not  so 
badly  off  after  all.  You  mustn't  look  so  discourag- 
ingly  at  me.  Cousin  Keith.  You  see  the  only  way 
for  us  to  earn  money  in  the  very  beginning  is  by  not 
spending  it." 

Instantly  Keith  West's  whole  attitude  changed. 
She  not  only  ceased  making  objections,  but  the  dis- 
tance that  she  herself  had,  in  her  imagination,  forced 
to  be  kept  between  herself  and  her  kin  disappeared,  and 
practical  suggestions  took  the  place  of  obstruction. 

"That  minute  you  spoke  and  looked  just  like  your 


152  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

Grandma  West,  when  the  outlying  members  of  the 
family  tried  to  argue  her  into  giving  up,  and  going 
down  to  winter  at  Gilead,  after  grandpa  died.  Gentle, 
but  set  as  fast  as  bricks  in  Portland  cement.  Of  course 
you  can  do  the  work  for  a  while  anyway  (1  did  the 
same,  and  more  too,  at  your  age),  if  you  can  only 
get  the  knack  of  turning  it  off,  and  I  don't  know  of 
any  one  more  likely  to  help  you  out  than  Mrs.  Peck. 
That  is,  unless  I  postpone  my  going  for  a  couple  of 
weeks,  and  do  it  myself,"  and  Miss  Keith  paused 
with  an  eager  look  that  said  she  would  ask  nothing 
better;  for  the  advent  of  the  family,  instead  of  making 
her  feel  out  of  place,  had  already  made  her  reasons 
for  the  change  grow  vague  and  hazy,  and  the  departure 
itself  seemed  not  an  escape,  but  more  Uke  an  eviction. 

"You  are  very  kind  to  offer,  but  that  is  impossible, 
you  know,"  answered  Brooke.  "In  the  last  letter 
you  wrote  me,  regretting  the  delay,  you  said  that  you 
must  absolutely  leave  on  the  12th,  and  that  will  be 
to-morrow.  It  is  better  too  that  we  should  begin  at 
once  before  Adam  and  I  grow  lazy  from  seeing  you 
take  the  lead  and  being  accustomed  to  our  liberty. 
How  much  does  Mrs.  Peck  charge,  and  where  does 
she  live?  I  think  I  had  best  go  to  see  her  to-day 
while  you  are  here  to  be  with  mother." 

Thus  Miss  Keith,  by  no  act  but  her  own,  had  lit- 
erally closed  the  door  upon  herself,  which  fact  she  was 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF       153 

clear-sighted  enough  to  recognize,  and  bore  herself 
accordingly,  making  haste  to  reply:  "Mrs.  Peck 
has  six  dollars  a  week  when  she  cares  for  mother, 
child,  and  the  house,  but  when  it  is  just  *  accommodat- 
ing' with  a  grown  girl  to  help  out  and  take  steps,  she 
has  three,  and  must  be  called  for  and  returned  home. 
She  would  jump  at  the  chance  to  come  here  for  three 
dollars,  for  there  have  been  next  to  no  births  this  winter, 
and  she  has  either  been  at  home  most  of  the  time,  or  else 
at  her  daughter's,  where  she  is  kept  busy  and,  of  course, 
gets  no  pay.  She  is  very  intimate  with  Mrs.  Enoch 
Fenton,  who  Uves  just  round  the  turn  on  the  Windy 
Hill  road,  not  half  a  mile  from  here.  You  can  go 
up  there  for  a  walk  after  dinner,  as  I  suppose  you'd 
rather  settle  your  own  business.  No,  you  can't  go 
this  morning,  no  one  disturbs  Mrs.  Fenton  before 
dinner;  you  see,  situated  as  she  is,  she  must  have 
all  the  forenoon  uninterrupted  for  her  work  —  she 
manages  wonderfully,  but  if  any  one  comes  in  before 
it  is  done,  it  upsets  her  for  the  day.  Why,  the  neigh- 
bours would  no  more  think  of  caUing  on  Mrs.  Fenton 
in  the  morning  than  they  would  of  visiting  the  minister 
on  Saturday  night!" 

Brooke  was  about  to  ask  how  this  particular  woman 
was  differently  circumstanced  from  her  neighbours, 
when  Miss  Keith  again  took  up  the  domestic  thread :  — 

"There's  hay  and  straw  and  com  fodder  enough 


154  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

to  last  over  until  pasture  is  growing  again.  I'd 
advise  you  to  sell  the  two  old  cows,  the  two  young 
ones  (one  calves  in  April,  the  other  in  September)  will 
be  enough  for  you  to  manage.  0/  course  you'll  keep 
Billy;  you'd  be  stuck  fast  here  on  the  hill  like  moss 
on  a  rock  but  for  him.  There's  no  earthly  reason 
why  Adam  can't  learn  to  curry  him,  and  milk  too  after 
a  spell;  but  Larsen  is  engaged  until  April,  when  he 
expects  to  be  married,  and  work  on  one  of  the  great 
estates  in  Gordon.  He  works  for  me  three  hours  a 
day  in  winter,  just  the  milking  and  chores  morning 
and  night.  I  pay  him  ten  dollars  a  month ;  the  Fentons 
keep  him  the  rest  of  the  time,  and  pay  him  fifteen 
dollars  and  board,  for,  of  course,  I  couldn't  board  a 
man  here ! " 

Brooke  did  not  appreciate  the  exact  reason,  but  did 
not  say  so,  and  Miss  Keith  continued:  "After  the 
ist  of  April,  Adam  ought  to  be  well  broken  in,  and 
you  can  doubtless  get  a  man  to  plot  out  the  garden, 
and  work  the  com  lot,  the  potato,  hay,  and  rye  fields 
on  shares.  I'll  speak  to  Mr.  Bisbee  and  the  black- 
smith about  that  before  I  go,  and  tell  them  to  keep 
their  eyes  open  for  one." 

"Don't  you  think  that  three  dollars  a  week  is  very 
smaU  pay  for  a  woman  such  as  Mrs.  Peck  appears  to 
be,  from  what  you  say?"  said  Brooke,  unthinkingly, 
her  old  habits  of  generosity  being  yet  strong  upon  her. 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF       155 

"Brooke  Lawton,  if  you  are  going  to  bring  your 
ideas  of  city  wages  and  charitable  reforms  up  here, 
you'll  make  trouble  for  others,  as  well  as  for  yourself," 
snapped  Miss  Keith,  vehemently.  "That  is  her  price, 
set  by  herself,  and  you  can't  afford  to  change  it  for 
one  thing  (you're  good  to  eat  on  your  principal  these 
first  three  months  anyhow);  and  suppose  you  could, 
what  good  would  it  do  her,  but  make  her  discontented 
with  what  others  could  pay,  and  humble  them  ?  People 
ought  to  hesitate  before  they  upset  the  wages  of  a 
place  they  come  into  new.  Half  such  charity  is  selfish 
gratification,  to  my  thinking.  There  was  old  John 
Selleck;  he  used  to  do  little  garden  chores  for  fifty 
cents  a  day  and  food,  —  light  work  with  frequent 
resting  spells.  Along  comes  a  city  man  and  hires 
a  cottage  on  the  lower  road  for  two  months.  Said  it 
was  a  shame  to  'underpay  the  labourer,'  gives  him 
a  dollar  and  a  half  a  day.  When  the  two  months 
were  over,  and  he  left  again,  would  John  Selleck  chore 
about  for  fifty  cents  a  day  and  food?  Not  he,  so,  as 
nobody  would  pay  him  more,  and  he  wouldn't  work 
for  less,  he  nearly  starved  last  autumn,  and  now  he's 
working  on  the  town  farm  for  board  without  the 
fifty  cents!" 

It  put  matters  in  a  different  light  to  Brooke,  and 
she  was  about  to  say  so  when  Dr.  Russell  thrust  his  head 
in  at  the  door,  and,  catching  only  a  few  words  of  Miss 


iS6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Keith's  oration  on  local  political  economy,  judged 
that  Brooke  was  being  unduly  lectured,  and  would 
welcome  release,  which  he  hastened  to  offer,  by  asking 
her  to  wrap  up  well  and  take  a  survey  of  her  property 
with  him,  saying  that  Adam  had  driven  down  to  Gilead 
with  Stead,  who  had  offered  to  show  him  the  rounds 
of  post-office,  store,  and  blacksmith's  shop. 

As  Dr.  Russell  opened  the  front  door  for  Brooke 
to  pass  out,  Tatters,  who  for  the  past  hour  had  been 
lying  by  Adam  Lawton's  chair  in  the  sitting  room, 
now  rose,  stretched  himself,  and  prepared  to  follow, 
while  as  he  did  so,  Mrs.  Lawton  saw  that  her  husband's 
eyes  followed  the  dog  with  an  expression  very  similar 
to  the  one  that  he  had  worn  the  last  week  when 
either  she  or  Brooke  came  into  plain  view.  By  thus 
reading  his  expression,  and  by  it  guessing  of  his 
needs,  she  had  already  established  a  certain  means  of 
communication,  which  Dr.  Russell  had  explained  to 
her  she  might  hope  to  develop  day  by  day  to  the 
point  when  continuous  memory  and  coherent  speech 
should  return. 

Once  outside  the  door.  Tatters  sniffed  at  Brooke's 
cloak,  touched  the  fingers  of  her  ungloved  hand  lightly 
with  his  tongue,  and  then  fell  behind,  following  her  at 
a  measured  distance,  pausing  when  she  paused,  and 
straightway  marching  along  as  soon  as  she  did. 

"It  appears  to  me,"  said  Dr.  Russell,  smiling,  as  he 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF       157 

watched  the  old  dog's  soldier-like  tread,  "that  Tatters 
has  'transferred  himself'  pretty  thoroughly,  and  Miss 
Kei:h  will  therefore  have  her  last  objection  to  going 
to  Boston  removed." 

A  path  was  shovelled  from  the  front  gate  to  the  side 
lane  above  the  house,  into  which  it  turned,  passing 
bam,  cow,  and  chicken  houses. 

"How  well  our  forebears  knew  how  to  build  for 
winter  convenience, "  said  the  doctor,  tucking  Brooke's 
hand  under  his  arm,  as  they  walked,  for  there  was  a 
layer  of  treacherous  ice  under  the  new  snow.  "  Nowa- 
days a  landscape  architect  would  put  all  these  out- 
buildings out  of  sight  below  the  slope,  or  else  up  behind 
that  knot  of  cedars,  where  it  would  take  a  day's  work 
to  dig  a  road  in  snow  time,  while  here  all  you  have  to 
do  is  to  look  out  the  kitchen  window,  and  see  that  all 
is  safe  and  sound.  It  is  a  compact  little  home,  dear 
child,  and  in  view  of  my  practical  knowledge,  as  well 
as  of  the  sentimental  value  of  such  things,  I  believe 
that  under  any  circumstances  it  is  the  best  and  most 
possible  Ufe  for  you  aU  for  many  years  to  come ;  only 
remember,  do  not  be  discouraged  if  you  have  some 
blue  days  before  the  spring  sun  shines.  There  is  a  trite 
old  saying,  'Who  loves  the  land  in  February  loves 
for  life.'  Simply  keep  working  and  do  not  try  to  look 
too  far  ahead ;  even  the  Bearer  of  the  World's  Burden 
would  only  have  us  cope  with  evil  day  by  day.    There 


158  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

is  where  we  often  make  our  error  —  by  cutting  off  the 
vista  to  the  good  with  the  shadow  of  borrowed  trouble." 

Brooke  looked  up  at  him  gratefully,  and  hesitated  a 
moment  before  she  said:  "There  is  only  one  thing 
about  which  I  am  troubling  a  little,  and  that  is 
Adam.  How .  will  dropping  everything  in  the  shape 
of  books,  and  turning  into  my  assistant  farmer,  much 
as  he  likes  the  idea,  affect  his  future  ?  You  may  not 
know  how  backward  he  is  even  now,  and,"  smihng 
archly,  "I'm  afraid  he'll  have  to  work  for  his  board 
this  first  year  before  I  can  even  afford  him  an  immi- 
grant's wages." 

"I'm  glad  that  you  have  come  straight  to  this  point," 
said  Dr.  Russell,  "for  it  is  one  where  I  can  meet  you 
halfway.  I  had  a  talk  with  your  brother  on  the  train 
yesterday,  and  I  am  convinced  that  the  practical,  and 
not  the  scholastic,  is  his  forte.  When  he  goes  to  college 
it  should  be  to  the  scientific,  not  to  the  academic 
school;  that  part  of  his  culture  must  come  from  good 
reading.  His  first  need  is  out-of-door  air  and  life  —  so 
far,  so  good,  that  he  can  have.  Last  night  at  supper  I 
discussed  this  with  Robert  Stead,  as  his  early  traimng  was 
both  at  the  School  of  Mines  and  the  Polytechnic  of  Troy. 
The  upshot, — 'Let  him  come  to  me  every  day,'  said 
Stead,  'for  as  many  hours  as  he  can  spare,  more  or 
less,  and  I  will  see  what  he  lacks,  and  perhaps  stimulate 
him  by  companionship  in  study,  or  at  any  rate  we  can 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF       159 

fight  out  the  essentials  together.  Perhaps  it  will  wann 
my  brain  again,  doctor,  who  knows?'" 

Brooke  clasped  her  hands  with  an  expression  of 
delight,  and  then  dropped  them,  saying,  "But  we 
cannot  pay  for  such  a  favour  as  that  would  be,  and 
on  the  other  hand  we  couldn't  put  ourselves  under 
an  obligation." 

"My  child,"  said  the  doctor,  stopping  in  the  middle 
of  the  cow-house,  which  they  chanced  to  be  investigat- 
ing at  the  moment,  and  leaning  against  a  stall,  while  the 
gentle  occupant  puUed  at  his  coat  with  her  inquisitive 
tongue,  "there  is  another  way  in  which  we  all  make 
grave  mistakes.  God  forbid  that  I  should  advocate 
the  shirking  or  casting  of  responsibility  upon  others, 
but  there  is  another  extreme  that  we  are  faUing  into 
in  this  twentieth  century  —  an  eye-for-an-eye,  tooth- 
for-a-tooth  breed  of  independence,  while  the  brother- 
hood that  should  blend  and  sweeten  all  our  daily 
actions  is  treated  as  a  vocation,  a  thing  set  apart,  and 
labelled  'Charity'  or  'Social  Service.'  It  seems  to  me 
that  the  Christian  law  of  silent  burden-bearing  is  far 
finer  and  more  subtle  than  this,  in  that  it  leaves  no 
obUgation  in  its  wake. 

"If  Robert  Stead,  the  man  cursed  with  lack  of 
motive,  finds  a  fragment  of  impulse  in  the  stimu'  ^tion 
of  awakening  his  buried  knowledge  and  in  contact  with 
your  brother,  when  your  brother  needs  this  knowledge, 


i6o  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

where  lies  the  obligation?  No,  the  scales  are  evenly 
balanced;  accept  the  result,  and  do  not  draw  a  breath 
to  jar  the  adjustment.  Moreover,  do  not  judge  Stead 
by  the  usual  social  standards,  but  bear  with  him. 
Perhaps  at  times  he  may  even  seem  discourteous,  for 
what  he  thinks  he  suffered  by  one  woman,  and  a  most 
remarkable  one  she  was  too,  has  made  him  curt  with 
all;  for  his  great  failing  is  that  he  can  never  judge 
except  by  the  personal  measure,  and  unconsciously 
he  has  made  a  cult  of  selfishness." 

"I  understand,  oh,  now  I  understand;  how  can  I 
ever  thank  you  for  showing  me  the  way?  Do  you 
know.  Dr.  Russell,"  Brooke  said,  clasping  her  hands 
on  his  arm,  "it  seems  to  me  I  never  began  really  to 
live  until  the  day  that  trouble  came  to  us;"  —  while 
as  Brooke  spoke,  the  silent  hour  in  the  Parkses'  gallery, 
and  Marte  Lorenz'  picture,  stretched  themselves  as  the 
inseparable  background  to  all  that  had  followed,  and 
deepened  the  colour  in  her  cheeks,  that  were  already 
glowing  with  the  keen  air. 

4c  4c  i|e  4:  :(c  4c  4c 

When  Brooke  and  the  Doctor  finished  their  tour,  and 
were  returning  to  the  house.  Tatters  still  following  sol- 
emnly, Bisbee's  double- runner  sled  with  the  baggage 
was  seen  coming  from  the  lower  road,  while  Stead's 
cutter  turned  into  the  yard  from  the  hill  way.  The  Cub 
being  in  a  very  happy  frame  of  mind  as  the  result  of 
his  morning's  trip. 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS   HIMSELF       i6i 

"Only  think,  Sis!"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  was 
within  speaking  distance,  "the  blacksmith  has  a  regis- 
tered dog  bull  pup,  with  just  as  good  a  pedigree  as 
Pam's  —  a  son  of  imported  Black-eye  who  is  owned  over 
in  Gordon.  He's  got  a  pedigree  a  mile  long  all  written 
out,  but  it's  smudged  and  mussy,  and  the  blacksmith 
has  offered  me  a  dollar  to  copy  it  out  on  a  fan-shaped 
paper  like  mine.  That  will  just  come  in  handy  to 
pay  Pam's  tax,  too;  it's  due  up  here  the  ist  of  January. 
Then  you  see  next  year  we'll  go  in  partnership,  and 
raise  some  pups,  and  fifty  dollars  apiece  is  the  very  least 
we  can  get  for  them,  and  maybe  a  hundred  for  the 
dogs,  if  they're  clever ! " 

The  elder  men  smiled  at  each  other,  and  the  doctor 
said  to  Silent  Stead,  "Enthusiasm  is  an  element  that 
can  be  ill  spared  from  materia  medica,  —  it  will  do  you 
good  even  to  get  a  whiff  of  it. "  To  Brooke :  "  Good-by 
for  now,  my  child ;  your  father  will  have  all  that  can 
be  done  for  him.  A  sloping  platform  from  the  kitchen 
door  will  allow  him  to  be  wheeled  out  in  pleasant 
weather,  and  time  and  care  alone  will  show  the  result. 
Remember,  do  not  hesitate  to  send  for  me  if  you  are 
puzzled  —  and  courage!  the  courage  that  is  always 
given  to  the  world's  workers  at  their  need,"  and  the 
good  physician,  the  spiritual  son  of  St.  Luke  of  old, 
took  his  place  by  Stead,  who  turned  Manfred  in  the 
direction  of  the  Gilead  station. 


i62  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Meanwhile  Tatters  had  disappeared,  and  when 
Brooke  went  indoors  again,  reahzing  too  late  that  she 
had  not  yet  thanked  Silent  Stead,  she  found  the  dog 
stretched  by  her  father's  chair,  an  indoor  post  he  there- 
after occupied. 

A  little  after  two  o'clock  Brooke  set  out  for  Mrs. 
Fenton's,  leaving  her  mother  to  superintend  the  un- 
packing of  the  simpler  things,  clothes,  books,  and  the 
little  table  furniture  that  they  had  deemed  best  to  save 
from  the  wreck  and  bring  with  them,  a  task  in  which 
Miss  Keith  seemed  to  revel  so  unfeignedly  that  Brooke 
began  her  walk  with  an  unusual  sense  of  freedom. 

She  had  gone  only  a  few  hundred  yards  when  she  re- 
membered Tatters,  and,  turning  back  to  get  him,  found 
that  he  was  already  close  behind,  and  hurrying  as  if 
life  or  death  depended  upon  his  escort.  "How  did 
you  know  I  was  coming  ?  How  did  you  get  out  ? " 
she  asked  him,  and  then  laughed  at  herself  for  expecting 
a  reply  other  than  the  short,  joyous  bark  he  gave,  as 
he  circled  around  her,  pawing  up  the  snow,  inviting 
her  to  play  with  clumsy,  stifiF  gestures  that  plainly  said, 
"I  know  I  am  rather  an  old  fellow  for  this  sort  of 
thing,  but  I'm  willing  to  do  anything  I  can  to  amuse 
you,"  while  he  even  raced  after  the  snowballs  she 
threw  at  random,  and  rashly  tried  to  retrieve  one, 
dropping  it  hastily  at  her  feet  with  a  comical  expression. 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF       163 

showing  by  a  twist  of  his  jaw  and  rubbing  his  nose 
between  his  paws  that  it  was  too  cold  for  his  teeth. 

The  walk  was  up  an  almost  straight  hill,  reHeved  by 
occasional  resting-places  by  which  alone  travel  in 
such  a  country  is  made  possible  to  man  or  beast,  so 
that  when  Brooke  reached  the  gate  of  the  Fenton  house 
she  paused,  both  for  breath  and  to  get  her  bearings. 
No  pathway  had  been  shovelled  to  the  front  door, 
and  the  beaten  track  led  round  the  side  of  the  house 
to  a  wide  porch  at  the  south,  which  also  held  £v  well- 
house  in  its  shelter,  and  this  Brooke  followed. 

Her  knock  at  the  door  was  followed  by  a  rumbling 
sound  from  within,  which  began  in  an  opposite  comer 
of  the  house,  and  drew  rapidly  nearer;  then  the  door 
opened  outward,  singularly  enough,  and  just  inside 
it  sat  a  little  old  lady  in  a  wheel-chair  that  she  both 
guided  and  propelled  with  her  own  hands. 

"I'm  so  sorry  to  have  troubled  you,"  Brooke  began. 
"I  wished  to  see  Mrs.  Enoch  Fenton,  and  Miss  Keith 
said  that  it  was  the  first  house  before  the  cross-roads, 
but  I  must  have  misunderstood." 

"And  so  it  is,  dear.  I'm  Mrs.  Fenton."  Then, 
as  she  read  Brooke's  puzzled  expression:  "Oh,  I  see, 
Keith  didn't  tell  you  that  I  use  wheels  instead  of  feet. 
Come  right  in;  see.  Tatters  is  quite  at  home  here, 
and  he  knows  where  my  cooky  drawer  is  just  as  well 
as  any  child  in  the  neighbourhood,"   and,  jerking  a 


i64  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

strap  that  she  held  in  her  hand,  which  was  also  fastened 
to  the  door  handle,  she  closed  it  behind  her  guest  even 
before  Brooke  realized  and  apologized  for  not  doing 
it  herself. 

Quick  as  a  flash  the  chair  was  turned,  and  travelled 
across  the  square  hall,  which  also  served  as  a  summer 
sitting  room,  into  a  kitchen,  cheerful  and  neat  as  wax, 
while  as  Brooke  followed,  her  senses  now  keyed  to 
the  unusual,  she  noticed  that  not  only  had  the  door- 
ways been  widened,  but  that  all  the  furniture,  tables, 
dresser,  chest  of  drawers,  and  even  the  stove  itself 
were   below  the   usual  level. 

"Choose  a  chair,"  said  Mrs.  Fenton,  smiling  brightly 
as  she  brought  herself  to  a  stop  close  to  the  sunny 
southwest  bay  window,  where  a  wide  shelf  with  a 
deep  ledge,  containing  sewing  materials  and  various 
garments  in  process  of  manufacture,  showed  it  to  be 
her  habitual  nook. 

As  Brooke  drew  a  splint-bottomed  rocker  nearer 
to  her  hostess,  she  noticed  that,  though  the  white  hair 
and  thin  face  had  at  first  given  the  impression  of 
greater  age,  Mrs.  Fenton  was  not  more  than  sixty- 
five,  while  the  inteUigence  of  her  expression  and 
brightness  of  eye  might  well  belong  to  a  woman  of 
fifty,  and  although  her  lower  limbs  seemed  small  and 
were  wrapped  in  a  shawl,  her  arms  and  chest  were 
full  and  muscular. 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF       165 

"You  don't  tell  me  your  name,  but  I  make  it  that 
you  are  Adam  Lawton's  daughter,  whom  Keith  has 
been  expecting  and  worrying  about  these  ten  days 
past.  She  told  me  about  your  father's  money  loss 
and  shock,  and  how  he  was  coming  back  home;  and 
I've  been  real  interested  to  hear,  because  you  see, 
dearie,  Adam  and  I  went  to  school  together  fifty  odd 
years  ago,  and  to  the  day  he  left  we  were  always  a 
tie  in  spelling  matches,  and  now  here  we  are  again, 
like  as  not  matched  together  as  cripples.  Tell  me  all 
about  him,  dear,  if  it  don't  hurt  you.  I've  found, 
these  eight  years  since  I've  had  my  discipline,  that 
exchanging  experiences  with  othere  Ukely  situated 
is  apt  to  make  one  credit  a  lot  of  things  to  the  mercy 
side  of  the  record  that  would  never  have  been  set  down, 
if  we  hadn't  been  brought  face  to  face  with  other  folks' 
misery,  and  so  forced  to  take  count  of  stock,  so  to  speak. 
And  please,  before  we  begin  and  have  a  comfortable 
chat,  give  Tatters  a  sugar  cooky  out  of  the  drawer 
there  (I  never  before  set  eyes  on  a  dog  so  fond  of  sweet 
cake,  —  his  mouth  is  fairly  watering), —  no,  not  that 
little  drawer,  the  peppermints  and  maple  candy  are 
in  there,  though  you  might  Uke  a  bit  of  that  to  nibble 
on,  —  the  second  drawer;"  and  Brooke,  after  giving 
the  expectant  dog  his  cake,  drew  still  closer  to  the 
wheel-chair,  and,  such  was  the  spell  of  single-hearted 
sympathy,  quite  as  a  matter  of  course  she  told  Mrs. 


i66  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Fenton,  naturally  and  frankly,  of  both  her  hopes  and 
fears,  ending  with  her  desire  to  get  Mrs.  Peck  to  "ac- 
commodate" until  she  should  have  learned  to  manage 
alone. 

"You  dear  child!"  exclaimed  the  lame  woman,  lay- 
ing her  work-hardened  hand  on  Brooke's  soft,  shapely 
one  as  she  ended,  and  looking  at  her  through  the  remi- 
niscent tears  that  would  gather  on  her  lashes,  "I  take 
it  a  special  thought  of  Providence,  your  coming  to  me, 
for  who  has  had  to  learn,  more  than  I,  how  to  keep 
housework  in  hand  ?  —  and  as  to  Mrs.  Peck,  she  will 
be  here  to-night,  as  Enoch,  being  Deacon,  must  sleep 
over  at  Gordon,  where  the  Con-Association  meets. 

"Listen,  and  I'll  tell  you  of  my  trouble  quickly  as 
may  be,  because  what's  over  and  gone  best  not  be 
dug  too  deep,  except  for  the  planting  of  future  seeds 
of  grace.  Eight  years  ago  this  winter  I  was  down 
at  my  daughter's  house  in  Gilead  (she  being  the  only 
one  of  six  left  me  outside  God's  Acre),  tending  her 
first-born.  All  around  the  well  was  laid  with  great 
cobbles,  I  slipped,  and  having  a  heavy  pail  in  hand 
could  not  save  myself,  and  hurt  my  spine,  and  it 
paralyzed  my  legs. 

"They  brought  me  home,  and  weeks  and  months 
went  by.  Enoch  had  the  best  doctors  that  summer 
over  from  Gordon,  but  nothing  could  be  done  to  Uven 
me;  and  then  I  knew  that  I  must  lie  there  bed-rid- 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF       167 

den,  or  be  propped  in  a  sick-chair  for  life,  and  leave 
my  work  undone  for  others.  Oh,  it  was  bitter,  and 
I  sorely  rebelled  to  see  a  hired  woman  in  my  place, 
and  father  only  half  cared  for.  Then  came  fall  of 
the  year,  and  one  day  father  brought  in  Doctor  Russell, 
who  had  come  up  to  stop  on  Windy  Hill  with  Robert 
Stead  for  the  shooting.  He  asked  father  to  go  away 
and  leave  him  alone  with  me.  Then  he  looked  me 
over,  bent  all  my  joints  that  would  bend,  and,  after 
listening  to  my  heart,  sat  in  the  big  chair  by  the  bed 
(I  can  see  him  now  just  as  plain),  and  said  :  'What 
troubles  you  the  most,  Mrs.  Fenton?  What  is  your 
worst  suffering,  and  what  do  you  most  wish?* 

"  *  To  do  something,  to  get  to  work,  and  not  lie  dead 
in  the  midst  of  life.'  He  sat  quite  still  for  ten  minutes 
or  more,  matching  his  finger-tips  together  in  thought, 
and  then  he  said,  *  If  you  have  will  enough,  and  courage, 
as  I  believe,  we'll  have  you  downstairs  and  back  at 
work  again  within  a  year.'  Then  he  told  me  of  the 
chair,  and  how  I  could  be  fastened  in  it  to  keep  from 
falling,  and  learn  to  use  the  wheels  for  legs,  as  a  child 
does  how  to  walk.  Bless  him!  it  all  came  true.  At 
first,  to  be  sure,  I  was  afraid,  and  banged  about,  and 
my  arms  were  tired  to  aching,  and  I  often  cried.  But 
Enoch  took  such  comfort,  seeing  me  at  table  even, 
that  it  was  a  nerve  tonic.  And  gradually,  as  I  strength- 
ened, he  had  the  doors  widened,  and  the  sills  done 


i68  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

away  with,  and  everything  set  within  my  reach,  until, 
when  the  year  was  up  and  a  little  more,  I  turned  ofi 
all  my  work  except  the  washing,  and  cooked  the  din- 
ner for  the  doctor  the  next  time  he  chanced  in. 

"  When  the  weather  is  seasonable,  too,  I  get  all  about 
the  yard,  and  now  I  really  feel  ambitious  to  go  down 
to  see  your  father  when  the  roads  are  settled.  You 
see  it  was  a  special  Providence  that  I  hit  my  back 
just  the  spot  I  did,  for  if  it  had  been  higher  up,  or  on 
my  head,  it  might  have  paralyzed  my  arms.  Yes, 
there's  always  something  to  the  mercy  side,  if  we  only 
stop  to  reckon  up." 

The  sun  was  setting  when  Brooke  left  Mrs.  Fenton, 
for  she  had  been  there  for  two  hours.  The  south- 
western sky  was  all  aglow  as  the  sun  broke  its  way 
through  the  dusky  clouds  of  falling  night,  and  like  it, 
the  heart  of  the  young  woman  glowed  within  her  breast. 
Free  of  health  and  of  limb,  what  might  she  not  will 
and  do,  ah,  if  only  she  could  become,  even  as  that 
woman  in  the  wheel-chair,  one  of  the  world's  workers ! 

As  she  walked  swiftly  down  the  road,  the  long  shafts 
of  light  and  the  wind  gusts  also,  sinking  to  rest,  played 
with  her  hair ;  and  at  the  turn  she  met  Silent  Stead,  who 
was  returning  from  Gilead.  Thinking  the  opportunity 
had  come  to  recognize  his  kindness,  she  stopped,  half 
turning  to  the  roadway  ;  but  he,  either  through  ofl&sh- 
ness  or  suspecting  her  design,  passed  on  with  a  mere 
greeting. 


TATTERS  TRANSFERS  HIMSELF       169 

Not  piqued,  because  she  remembered  Dr.  Russell's 
warning,  Brooke  went  her  way,  smiling  to  herself  in 
amusement  ;  and  when  she  neared  the  farm  she  broke 
into  a  run.  Tatters  barking  and  gambolling  about  her, 
so  that  Miss  Keith,  who  came  to  the  door  at  the  sound, 
was  forced  to  confess,  though  much  against  her  will, 
that,  in  spite  of  his  years  of  service  to  herself.  Tatters 
had  "  transferred  himself." 

Meanwhile,  by  a  strange  perversity  of  fate,  the 
radiant  face  of  the  girl  whom  Robert  Stead  had  passed 
by  so  curtly  on  the  road,  turned  homeward  with 
him,  all  unbidden,  now  smiling  at  him  from  between 
Manfred's  mobile  ears,  sitting  opposite  him  at  his 
table,  and  even  permeating  the  smoke  wreaths  from 
his  pipe  that  coiled,  as  in  a  vision,  aroimd  her  head 
in  fantastic  tresses. 


CHAPTER  XI 

BREAD 

Three  weeks  had  now  passed  since  Miss  Keith's 
departure,  and  the  daily  toil  of  each  had  been  punc- 
tuated by  a  series  of  unexpected  events. 

Much  as  Brooke  had  dreaded  the  going  of  her  execu- 
tive kinswoman,  it  was  in  a  sense  a  relief.  She  was 
well  aware  that  until  she  was  entirely  thrown  upon  her 
own  resources  it  would  be  impossible  to  judge  her 
strength  or  plan  definitely  for  the  future ;  and  now  that 
the  move  had  been  made,  this  planning  was  the  next 
hill  to  climb.  It  was  impossible  for  Brooke  to  have  a 
quiet  moment,  except  when  she  was  alone  in  her  room 
at  night,  so  long  as  Miss  Keith  was  in  the  house ;  for  the 
estimable  woman  was  continually  remembering  some 
important  bit  of  advice,  relative  to  the  year's  rotation  of 
work  in  the  garden  or  the  "  putting  up  "  of  the  fruit.  One 
of  the  last  details  that  she  impressed  upon  Brooke  in 
showing  her  baskets  of  various  bulbs  and  a  large  store 
of  the  seeds  of  sweet  peas,  nasturtiums,  and  other 
hardy  annual  flowers,  all  neatly  put  up  in  paper  bags, 
was  to  sow  plenty  of  them  in  long  rows  Hke  vege- 

170 


BREAD  171 

tables,  because  as  she  said  "the  rich  folks  were  always 
stopping  to  see  the  view  as  they  drove  from  Stonebridge 
to  Gordon,  and  often  sent  in  and  begged  to  buy  the  old- 
fashioned  flowers,  because  their  gardens  had  not  room 
for  them." 

Brooke  promised,  but  the  matter  passed  quickly 
from  her  overcrowded  mind;  for,  interpreted  by  Miss 
Keith,  the  work  of  the  mistress  of  the  West  home- 
stead would  have  kept  at  least  six  Plymouth-Rock- 
ribbed  housewives  at  work  from  rise  until  set  of  sun. 
Very  different  indeed  was  it  from  Mrs.  Enoch  Fenton's 
soothing  advice,  "Dearie,  just  begin  by  doing  what 
you  must,  and  let  the  rest  sort  of  slip  off  your  hands  until 
the  Lord  gives  'em  the  knack  to  handle  it." 

When  the  rockaway,  driven  by  Larsen,  at  last  came 
to  the  door  with  the  Cub  as  honorary  footman  to  see 
Miss  Keith  off  and  make  sure  that  none  of  her  twelve 
pieces  of  wonderfully  assorted  baggage  went  astray,  she 
broke  down  completely,  yet  did  not  seem  comforted 
or  pleased  with  Brooke's  invitation  to  return  if  she 
changed  her  mind  about  matrimony,  the  final  sniff  that 
followed  the  sincere  and  cordial  offer  being  more  of 
scorn  than  of  grief. 

Mrs.  Lawton  was  now  fast  shaking  off  the  state  of 
being  in  a  waking  dream,  in  which  she  lived  since  the 
night  of  the  calamity;  and,  once  Miss  Keith  had  gone, 
both  mother  and  daughter  began  to  taste  the  quiet  joys 


172  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

of  a  companionship  that  the  forced  separation  of  the 
last  few  years  of  conventional  city  life  had  not  only  left 
undeveloped  but  unknown. 

Their  intercourse  was  none  the  less  sustaining  be- 
cause the  things  that  they  discussed  were  the  bread-and- 
butter  affairs  of  every  day  —  whether  the  invalid  should 
have  chicken  or  mutton  broth,  and  as  to  whether  it  was 
possible  to  make  many  of  the  dishes  they  desired  with 
only  half  the  ingredients  the  cook-book  demanded, 
Mrs.  Lawton's  experience  of  long  ago  and  Brooke's 
common  sense  deciding  in  the  affirmative. 

In  fact,  the  young  mistress  had  not  been  working 
side  by  side  with  Mrs.  Peck  (who  came  to  "accommo- 
date" and  instruct  the  day  after  Miss  Keith  left)  a  week 
before  she  was  sure  of  what  she  had  always  suspected, 
that  fully  three-quarters  of  modem  recipes  for  cooking 
are  merely  competitive  struggles  to  see  how  much  good 
material  can  be  crammed  into  something  totally  unsuit- 
able for  the  human  stomach. 

Gradually,  as  the  first  week  drew  to  a  dose,  it  hap- 
pened that,  after  the  Cub  and  Brooke  had  helped 
estabUsh  their  father  in  his  wheel-chair  for  the  day, 
Mrs.  Lawton  went  to  and  fro  about  the  lower  floor, 
dusting,  adjusting,  wiping  dishes,  watering  the  plants, 
and  doing  the  thousand  and  one  little  things  that  make 
a  woman  a  part  of  her  home.  Then  later  in  the  day 
she  would  wheel  Adam  Lawton  into  the  kitchen  per- 


BREAD  173 

haps,  and,  taking  out  her  work-basket,  do  some  of  the 
sewing  that  was  imperative  to  make  the  garments  of 
the  past  even  possible  for  present  use.  As  to  Adam 
Lawton  himself,  he  was  more  alert  and  did  not  seem  to 
doze  as  constantly  as  before,  while  his  eyes  wandered 
from  object  to  object  with  a  changeful  expression  unlike 
the  apathy  of  his  first  conscious  period. 

Before  the  seven  days  were  completely  rounded, 
three  things  had  happened.  Brooke  heard  her  mother 
hum  a  snatch  of  the  ballad  "  Jock  o'  Hazeldean,"  as  she 
snipped  withered  leaves  from  the  plants  in  the  kitchen 
w^indow;  she  saw  her  father  stroke  Tatters'  head  and 
finger  his  ears  with  his  well  hand;  and  Robert  Stead, 
who  now  left  their  mail  as  he  returned  with  his  own 
from  the  village  every  morning,  brought  her,  together 
with  some  belated  foreign  New  Year's  cards,  a  flat, 
square  package,  spattered  with  foreign  postmarks, 
addressed  in  an  unknown  hand,  in  care  of  Charlie 
Ashton,  and  evidently  remailed  by  him. 

In  a  perfectly  unobtrusive  and  matter-of-course  way, 
without  so  much  as  by  your  leave,  the  silent  man  had 
estabhshed  a  more  or  less  silent  intercourse  with  the 
Lawton  family  as  a  whole.  He  must  pass  the  house  on 
his  daily  horseback  trip  to  the  village,  and  the  fact 
that  he  brought  their  morning  mail  or  did  a  bit  of 
marketing  was  a  courtesy  that  could  not  be  construed 
into  an   obHgation,  and   the  lending  of   a  magazine, 


174  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

novel,  or  gardening  book  soon  came  to  be  a  matter  of 
course. 

Mrs.  Lawton  could  not  but  welcome  one  of  her 
own  kind  who  belonged  as  remotely  to  a  certain  past 
as  she  herself.  Brooke,  remembering  Dr.  Russell's 
words,  greeted  him  cordially,  glad  to  give  cheer  to 
one  so  lonely,  and  added  to  this  motive,  be  it  said,  was 
the  general  interest  which  a  man  of  fifty,  who  is  in  any 
way  surrounded  by  a  tragedy  or  mystery,  excites  in  a 
young,  warm-hearted  woman;  while  the  Cub  fairly 
adored  his  tutor  to  be,  afar  off,  for  had  not  Stead  a  taste 
for  horses,  dogs,  guns,  fishing  tackle,  and,  above  all, 
liberty  ?  Also,  had  he  not  offered  to  make  easy  the  tor- 
turing pathway  of  mathematics  ?  —  while  best  of  all  from 
the  first  he  had  treated  the  youth  of  the  difl5cult  age, 
which  is  both  aggressive  and  sensitive,  like  a  fellow- 
man,  younger,  of  course,  but  still  an  equal,  instead  of 
a  cross  between  a  fool,  a  nuisance,  and  a  criminal,  as 
some  of  his  instructors  had  chosen  to  regard  him. 

When  Brooke  had  taken  the  little  package  from 
Stead's  hand,  in  spite  of  the  unfamiliarity  of  the  writ- 
ing upon  it,  a  sudden  embarrassment  seized  upon  her, 
making  her  redden  to  the  temples ;  and,  instead  of  con- 
sidering and  opening  it  as  one  of  the  many  cards  of 
Christmas  greeting  that  she  had  received  from  fellow- 
students  and  friends  ever  since  her  Paris  year,  she  laid  it 
aside  and  presently  carried  it  to  her  room. 


BREAD  175 

Closing  the  door,  though  it  was  very  seldom  that  even 
her  mother  came  to  the  second  floor,  Brooke  turned 
the  thick  envelope  over  several  times  before  cutting  the 
heavy  cord  that  bound  it,  and  so  swift  and  sure  is  the 
speech  of  telepathy  that  she  did  not  wonder  who  had 
written  to  her  in  care  of  Carolus  Ashton.  She  did  not 
try  to  trace  the  identity  of  unfamiliar  characters  or 
remember  that  in  the  years  that  separated  her  from  that 
time  no  similar  letter  had  reached  her ;  she  simply  knew 
that  the  address  had  been  traced  by  the  pen  of  Marte 
Lorenz,  without  for  a  moment  reahzing  that  the  source 
of  this  clairvoyance  lay  in  the  undeniable  craving  of 
her  whole  being  to  know  of  him.  Once  opened,  a 
double  sheet  of  blank  paper  enclosed  a  square  of  artists' 
board  covered  with  light  tissue.  Tearing  this  off,  with 
eager  trembUng  fingers,  instead  of  the  man's  face  that 
she  had  expected  to  look  out  at  her,  with  those  wide- 
open  eyes  from  under  the  tumbled  thatch  of  hair,  in- 
stead of  the  mustache-veiled  lips  which  told  simple 
truths  with  such  sympathetic  sincerity  that  it  made  them 
more  desirable  than  praise,  she  saw  herself,  or  rather 
one  of  herselves,  for  it  is  only  a  strangely  monotonous, 
colourless  type  of  woman  who  can  be  interpreted  by 
merely  the  universal  blending  of  composites. 

It  was  simply  a  head,  small,  perforce,  and  lightly 
sketched  in  oil,  with  only  enough  of  the  shoulder  curve, 
over  which  the  face  was  turned,  to  give  a  balance,  the 


176  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

sombre  background  of  deep  browns  serving  to  throw  out 
the  golden  glints  of  the  hair ;  but  the  quality  that  struck 
Brooke  at  once  was  the  same  strange  effect  of  lighting 
that  had  puzzled  her  in  the  picture  of  Eucharistia. 
Without  being  in  the  form  of  the  conventional  halo  of 
the  old  masters,  a  raying  light  emanated  from  behind  the 
head,  and  the  eyes  seemed  as  if  they  were  but  the  opening 
to  a  vision  beyond. 

Still  hoping  for  some  message  or  word,  Brooke,  hold- 
ing the  picture  close,  saw  in  one  comer,  half  hidden  by 
a  bit  of  drapery,  the  initials  "M.  L."  and  the  words 
"For  the  New  Year." 

Then  Brooke,  the  girl  of  sentiment  and  idealized 
emotions,  argued  with  Miss  Lawton,  the  head  of  the 
family,  the  young  woman  of  responsibilities  and  prac- 
ticahties. 

Brooke  said,  "Why  did  he  send  me  my  picture  in- 
stead of  his  own?" 

Miss  Lawton  answered,  "Perhaps  it  is  not  intended 
for  a  portrait  at  all,  but  merely  a  chance  resemblance 
in  a  New  Year's  token,  such  as  an  artist  may  send  to 
a  dozen  friends ! " 

"But,"  queried  Brooke,  not  Hstening,  but  following 
her  desire,  "he  may  have  meant  by  sending  my  portrait 
that  he  wished  to  tell  me  that  he  still  thought  of  me,  and 
a  girl  always  likes  to  have  her  picture  painted;  but 
if  he  had  sent  his  own  it  would  be  like  intruding  him- 


BREAD  177 

self  upon  me,  if  I  had  forgotten.  How  shall  I  thank 
him?" 

"It  is  evident,  as  he  sent  no  address,  he  particularly 
desires  not  to  be  thanked,"  replied  Miss  Lawton,  some- 
what tartly. 

"If  he  trusted  his  letter  to  Carolus  Ashton,  probably 
hearing  of  him  through  some  mutual  artist  friend,  why 
should  not  I  do  likewise,  who  have  known  him  as  Lucy's 
cousin  all  my  Ufe?"   persisted  Brooke. 

"And  have  him  get  up  one  of  his  fabulous  tales  about 
a  mysterious  correspondence  and  tantalize  Lucy  with 
it  umtil  she  turns  about  and  extracts  the  scant  truth  from 
him?"   sneered  Miss  Lawton. 

Without  deigning  further  reply,  Brooke  went  to  the 
little  table  by  the  window,  where  stood  an  inkstand,  in 
the  drawer  of  which  were  some  loose  sheets  of  paper  and 
envelopes.  Picking  up  one  of  the  latter,  she  addressed 
it  in  her  usual  hand,  stamped  it,  and  then,  resting  it  on 
the  window  ledge,  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  toward  her 
and  straightway  fell  into  a  brown  study,  during  which 
either  her  brain  refused  to  think  or  her  hand  to  write. 
Then,  suddenly  starting  up,  she  crossed  to  her  bureau 
and,  taking  up  the  little  picture  of  Eucharistia,  gazed  at 
it  steadily,  slipped  it  from  the  delicate  silver  frame,  and 
with  a  sigh,  half  of  regret,  wrapped  it  in  a  sheet  of  note- 
paper  and  sealed  it  in  the  addressed  envelope. 

Putting  the  wordless  letter  in  the  pocket  of  the  short 


178  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

working  apron  she  wore,  Brooke  went  to  the  letter-box 
that  stood  at  the  junction  of  main  road  and  lane  leading 
to  the  bam,  and  dropped  it  in,  that  the  carrier  might 
find  it  that  afternoon  on  his  daily  trip. 

Returning  by  way  of  the  kitchen,  the  loaves  of  bread 
that  Brooke  had  that  morning  kneaded,  moulded,  and 
covered  for  their  final  raising  met  her  eye.  At  first, 
smiUng  at  the  sudden  change  of  motive,  she  examined 
them  seriously,  for  in  reality  these  loaves  were  of  no 
small  importance,  representing  as  they  did  the  girl's 
first  independent  baking. 

Opening  the  oven  doors,  she  tested  floor  and  side, 
adjusted  dampers  after  Mrs.  Peck's  custom,  and  then, 
shutting  the  loaves  from  sight,  went  away,  feeling 
very  much  as  if  she  had  imprisoned  some  hving  thing 
in  a  fiery  furnace,  so  much  depended  upon  the  outcome 
of  the  first  venture. 

An  hour  later  Mrs.  Peck,  returning  from  a  neigh- 
bourly call  upon  Mrs.  Fenton,  surprised  Brooke  in  the 
act  of  taking  the  four  freshly  baked  loaves  from  their 
pans.  They  were  done  to  a  nicety  of  golden  brown, 
and  she  laid  each  one  down  carefully  and  paused  a 
moment,  sniffing  the  appetizing  odour  before  covering 
them  with  a  clean  towel,  lest  too  sudden  cooling  should 
make  the  crust  seam. 

"Tired,  bean't  you!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Peck,  whose 
principal  comfort  in  the  present  was  to  lament  and  be- 


BREAD  179 

wail  a  past  of  fabulous  grandeur  upon  the  like  of  which 
no  living  contemporary  had  ever  set  eyes.  "I  suppose 
you  are  thinking  how  Uttle  wunst  you  ever  expected 
to  hev  to  set  to  riz  and  knead  and  bake  your  own  bread. 
Poor  dear,  I  kin  feel  for  you!  I've  been  through  it  all 
—  it's  turrible  to  feel  yoursel'  downsot  like  I  was  after 
Mr.  Peck  died,  and  not  through  your  own  deserts!" 

Brooke,  who  knew  the  good  woman's  pet  infirmity, 
hardly  hstened  to  her;  there  was  another  theme  that 
filled  her  brain,  almost  shaping  itself  to  rhythm,  not  of 
the  past  alone,  but  the  present,  the  future  —  of  all  time, 
as  old  as  Hfe  itself,  the  unending  song  of  the  man  who 
sows,  of  the  grain  in  the  field  that  endures  the  winter 
and  leaps  upward,  spears  aloft,  militant,  at  the  bugle  of 
spring;  of  the  grain  in  the  ear,  of  the  molten  gold  of 
the  harvest  that  goes  to  the  mill,  of  the  clear  white  flour 
that  the  man's  mate  blends  with  the  magic  leaven  to 
be  bread  for  the  house.  And  her  heart  took  wing  as 
she  looked  at  the  loaves,  for  if  the  weal  of  the  land 
rests  on  the  farmer's  plough,  second  only  should  stand 
the  toil  of  the  maker  of  bread. 

There  were  only  four  loaves,  it  is  true,  but  to  Brooke 
they  stood  for  a  definite  power  — her  first  direct  pro- 
ductive work. 

Choosing  one  from  the  rest  and  half  wrapping  it  in 
a  white  towel,  she  carried  it  to  her  mother,  who  was 
sitting  beside  her  father,  whose  chair  was  placed  close 


i8o  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

by  the  sunny  window.  For  the  two  days  past  his  lips 
had  moved,  though  inarticulately,  and  his  wife  was 
doubly  on  the  alert  for  a  single  spoken  word. 

Holding  the  loaf  before  her  as  if  it  had  been  a  trophy, 
Brooke  crossed  the  room  and,  folding  back  the  towel, 
the  steaming  odour  of  the  bread  reached  her  mother's 
nostrils.  Then  she  held  out  her  hands  to  her  daughter, 
taking  the  bread  from  her  almost  reverently. 

"Watch  father!"   whispered  Brooke. 

There  was  a  look  of  recognition  struggling  with  other 
visions  in  his  eyes,  and  strange  incoherent  sounds  were 
formed  on  the  struggling  lips.  His  eyes  fixed  them- 
selves on  the  loaf,  which  his  wife  held  close.  His  nos- 
trils quivered  as  if  in  unison  with  his  other  awakening 
senses.  Brooke  knelt  by  his  chair,  endeavouring  to  read 
sense  in  the  vague  sounds  he  uttered.  There  came  a 
pause,  a  hush,  and  then,  in  hoarse,  uncertain  accents, 
unmistakable  yet  feeble  at  the  close,  Adam  Lawton 
whispered  two  words,  "New  bread." 

Meanwhile,  outside  in  the  kitchen,  warming  himself 
by  the  stove,  was  the  Cub,  who,  coming  in  from  the  cold 
and  the  exertion  of  rounding  up  refractory  chickens 
after  their  morning  sunning,  had  brought  a  keen  appe- 
tite with  him.  Snatching  a  knife  that  lay  on  the  table, 
he  cut  a  thick  crust  from  one  of  the  loaves ;  this  he  has- 
tened to  spread  with  molasses  from  a  jug  in  the  pantry, 
and  then  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  taking  great 


BREAD  i8i 

round  bites  with  the  wholesome  gusto  of  six,  instead  of 
his  old-time  critical  mouthing  of  surfeited  dyspeptic 
discontent. 

3|C  T*  *l*  "I*  *!•  •!•  •!* 

The  surprise  of  the  second  week  was  a  visit  from  Lucy 
Dean  at  its  close.  The  excellent  sleighing  had  filled 
many  houses  of  both  Stonebridge  and  Gordon  for  the 
week  end,  and  shortly  before  noon  of  Saturday  Brooke 
was  sitting  at  the  old  desk  in  the  living  room,  for  which 
her  added  books  had  earned  the  name  of  library,  writing 
her  weekly  letter  to  Lucy,  when  a  shadow  darkened  the 
nearest  window,  and,  looking  up,  she  saw  Lucy  in  the 
flesh,  peering  in  at  her  with  a  serio-comic  expression 
that  Brooke  knew  of  old  to  mean  deep,  real  feeUng. 
Bells  had  been  jingling  by  the  whole  morning,  so  that 
those  that  had  heralded  her  coming  had  passed  un- 
noticed. 

In  an  instant  Brooke  was  at  the  door,  and  no  one  who 
saw  the  silent  but  emphatic  meeting  could  ever  after 
deny  the  possible  existence  of  real  friendship  between 
women. 

"Where  did  you  drop  from?" 

"The  Hendersons'  sleigh !  I'm  up  there  for  Sunday 
simply  because  you  haven't  asked  me  here  yet!" 

"Oh,  Lucy,  everything  has  been  so  unsettled  and 
uncertain  I  really  didn't  even  think  of  it." 

"Of  course  not;  now  don't  begin  to  worry,  it's  only 


i82  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

my  brutal  way  of  letting  you  know  that  I  simply  had  to 
see  you,  and  have  not  in  the  least  increased  my  admira- 
tion for  the  coimtry  in  the  winter,  or  the  Hendersons  in 
particular ! " 

"You  will  stay  to  dinner,  surely?  Or  are  they 
waiting  outside?"  cried  Brooke,  in  a  sudden  panic  at 
the  thought  of  being  brought  thus  face  to  face  with  some 
of  their  ultrafashionable  friends. 

"No,  my  lamb,  they  have  gone  over  for  luncheon  to 
the  Parkses'  at  Gordon  (you  don't  know,  of  course,  that 
the  frisky  Senator  has  just  bought  the  Smythers'  big 
estate,  —  furniture,  servants,  and  all,  —  in  order  to  carry 
still  farther  the  success  of  the  New  York  house  warming). 
I  begged  off  for  the  day,  and,  as  the  party  was  one  man 
shy,  they  gratefully  gave  me  my  Hberty,  and  will  pick 
me  up  about  four. 

"Now  show  me  your  property,  live  stock  and  all,  and 
tell  me  of  its  advantages  and  otherwise,  that  I  may  have 
the  right  background  to  keep  in  my  mind's  eye  when  I 
go  home.  But  bless  me  I  where  is  your  mother?  and 
your  father  —  perhaps  he  may  know  me!" 

Lucy  clung  to  Mrs.  Lawton  as  she  always  had,  with 
a  wealth  of  the  untutored  daughterly  affection  that  had 
missed  its  own  outlet  motherward,  so  Brooke  left  the 
two  alone  together  for  a  few  moments  in  the  library 
while  she  went  in  to  see  how  her  father  was  faring. 
Tatters,  as  usual,  was  by  his  chair,  not  lying  down  but 


BREAD  183 

sitting  erect  and  close.  Adam  Lawton  was  looking 
intently  at  a  picture  paper  that  Stead  had  brought  which 
was  propped  on  the  rack  before  him.  Seeing  that  her 
father  had  not  yet  noticed  her,  Brooke  stood  quite  still, 
watching  the  pair.  Once  in  a  while  the  left  hand  would 
pat  the  dog's  head,  that  was  constantly  turned  toward 
him,  but  Tatters'  attention  seemed  fixed  upon  the  use- 
less hand  that  rested,  a  dead  weight,  upon  the  knee. 
Nosing  it  gently,  as  a  mother  dog  does  her  sleeping  pups 
to  make  sure  that  they  are  ahve.  Tatters  moved  it  per- 
haps an  inch,  his  eyes  open  wide  and  ears  moving  ques- 
tioningly. 

Meeting  with  no  response,  no  sign  of  life,  his  dog 
mind  evidently  argued  that  the  poor  human  paw  was 
ill,  and  bringing  the  universal  medicine  of  his  race  in 
play,  he  began  to  Uck  the  hand  with  slow  regular  strokes 
of  his  strong,  clean  tongue,  first  going  over  the  entire 
surface,  then  separating  each  finger  with  a  clinging 
circular  motion. 

Amazement  seized  Brooke  as  the  thought  came  to  her 
that,  after  all,  had  not  nature  antedated  man  in  this,  as 
in  many  things,  and  endowed  the  tongues  of  the  dumb 
beasts  with  the  vital  principles  of  massage?  Did  the 
dog  know,  with  that  wisdom  that  only  the  confessed 
materiaUst  is  wilUng  to  call  mere  instinct,  the  impotence 
of  that  right  hand ;  and  why  might  there  not  be  healing 
in  his  imparted  vitality?    Why  might  not  the  natural 


i84  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

magnetism  be  as  good  as  the  electricity  from  the  little 
machine  that  her  mother  gave  her  father  each  day  ? 

As  she  thought  all  this,  she  again  heard  that  hoarse 
whisper.  Straining  every  nerve,  she  listened ;  the  sound 
came  once  more — a  single  word,  "Tatters,"  repeated 
again  and  again,  and  lingered  over  as  if  it  were  a  magic 
dew  to  the  loosening  of  a  tangled  skein  of  memory. 

Stepping  quickly  to  his  side,  Brooke  said,  slowly  and 
distinctly,  "Father,  Lucy  Dean  is  here,  with  mother  in 
the  Ubrary.  Lucy  Dean  —  would  you  like  to  see  her  ?  " 
Ever  since  his  return  to  Gilead,  Brooke  had  made  a 
point  of  calling  Adam  Lawton  "father"  very  distinctly 
whenever  she  entered  the  room  in  his  waking  hours, 
to  accustom  him  to  the  sound,  also  to  speak  of  the 
ordinary  imemotional  affairs  of  every  day  as  a  matter 
of  course,  regardless  of  the  fact  that  he  did  not  heed. 

As  she  repeated  the  words  "Lucy  Dean"  he  shook 
his  head  slightly,  but  the  word  "mother"  he  repeated 
quite  distinctly  several  times,  smiling  as  he  did  so ;  and 
then  Brooke  knew  for  a  certainty  that,  though  motive 
power  and  sense  of  touch  and  taste  and  smell  were 
coming  back,  memory  had  halted,  and  that  it  was  the 
Tatters  and  mother  of  his  youth  that  he  associated  with 
the  words. 

Presently  Pam  came  rushing  in;  she  had  tracked 
the  footprints  of  her  friend  through  the  snow  and  had 
cast  herself  wildly  against  the  front  door,  regardless 


BREAD  i8s 

alike  of  paint  or  bruises,  and  scrambled  into  Lucy's 
lap  in  a  very  ecstasy.  Nor  was  the  Cub  far  ofiF,  and 
as  the  two  young  women,  two  dogs,  and  one  youth 
trudged  off  presently  to  see  the  "estate,"  as  Lucy  called 
it,  she  caught  the  boy  by  the  wrist  and  held  his  right 
palm  upward  as  a  fortune-teller  might,  asking  what 
to  Brooke  seemed  strange  questions. 

"Where  did  those  blisters  come  from?" 

"Please,  teacher,  I  got  'em  splitting  wood,"  whined 
the  Cub,  in  comic  imitation  of  the  drawl  of  the  children 
at  the  school  below  at  the  cross-roads. 

"That  dark  red  stain?" 

"Paint,  off  Silent  Stead's  box  sleigh — it's  been  done 
over." 

"Who,  pray,  is  Silent  Stead?" 

The  Cub  explained  with  adjectives  and  details,  while 
Lucy  made  a  mental  note  of  the  same,  watching  Brooke 
out  of  the  tail  of  her  eye  the  while. 

"Yes,  but  those  dirty  brown  stains  on  the  thumb  and 
fingers  —  they  are  not  paint !" 

"Nope  —  pine  tar!"  jerked  the  Cub,  uncertain 
whether  to  laugh  or  resent  this  catechising,  but  deciding 
on  the  former. 

"Honour  bright,  nothing  else?" 

"Honour  bright!" 

"Then  here's  your  pipe!"  cried  Lucy  gayly,  to  the 
further  mystification  of  Brooke,  who  could  not  inter- 


i86  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

pret  the  by-play.  "Your  birthday  is  half  a  year  oflf 
and  Christmas  is  past;  what  comes  next?  Why  St. 
Valentine's  Day,  of  course !  It's  a  present  for  that  with 
Pam's  love  and  my  —  respects  for  your  fortitude ! " 
Then,  rummaging  in  the  front  of  her  blouse,  the  present 
and  only  pocket  universal  allowed  women  by  fashion, 
she  drew  out  a  leather  case  that  enclosed  a  meerschaum 
of  really  beautiful  curve,  the  bowl  being  the  carved  head 
of  the  bull  terrier ! 

Then  Brooke  understood,  and  locking  her  arms  in 
those  of  the  other  two,  they  shd  her  between  them  as  they 
ran  up  and  down  an  icy  bit  on  the  side  road,  while  the 
Cub  further  suggested  a  good  coast  down  the  river 
slope  on  an  improvised  bob-sled  after  dinner. 

But  after  dinner  and  its  dishwashing,  in  which  Lucy 
gayly  took  part,  the  two  young  women  ensconced  them- 
selves so  snugly  before  the  Hbrary  fire  that  it  would  have 
taken  a  stronger  lure  than  a  whiz  down  ever  so  smooth 
a  hill  to  drag  them  forth.  Then  they  talked  woman's 
talk,  and  Brooke  found  herself  gradually  asking  for 
people,  as  from  the  distance  of  another  world,  that  two 
months  ago  she  had  met  in  almost  daily  intercourse; 
while  the  strangest  part  of  all  was  the  fact  thus  borne 
in  upon  her  that  a  scant  dozen,  perhaps,  were  all 
among  the  throng  who  had  been  boimd  by  kindred 
tastes  which  make  the  enduring  sympathy  called 
friendship.    The  rest  were  merely  incidents,  the  float- 


BREAD  187 

ing  clouds  of  summer  skies  bred  and  bom  of  the 
caprice  of  social  wind  and  weather. 

"By  the  way,  Brooke,"  said  Lucy,  after  they  had 
travelled  the  old  paths  once  more  in  company,  "what 
did  you  do  with  those  two  thin  keys  that  Tom  Brownell 
picked  up  from  under  the  rug  the  day  I  escorted  him 
from  your  apartment  at  the  St.  Hilaire  ?  I  gave  them  to 
you  afterward.  Don't  say  that  you  have  lost  them!" 
and,  as  Brooke  hesitated,  Lucy  sat  up  straight  with  a 
look  of  alarm. 

"Oh,  no,  they  are  quite  safe  in  a  box  in  my  drawer, 
though  they  are  nothing  to  bother  about,  for  they  do  not 
belong  to  anything  of  ours,  and  both  your  father  and  our 
lawyer  said  that  they  fitted  no  business  desk  or  box  of 
father's." 

"That  may  be,"  said  Lucy,  guilelessly,  "but  Tom 
Brownell  asked  me  particularly  if  I  would  beg  you  to 
lend  them  to  him.  You  see  he  has  a  sort  of  genius  for 
fitting  odd  numbers  together,  and  finding  those  owner- 
less keys  as  he  did,  they  seem  to  have  fascinated  him 
strangely.'* 

"Tom  Brownell,"  mused  Brooke;  then,  becoming  in 
her  turn  suddenly  all  on  the  alert,  she  continued: 
"Why,  he  was  that  reporter  who  contradicted  the  story 
of  father's  feigned  illness  in  the  Daily  Forum,  was  he 
not?  And  pray,  where  did  you  stumble  over  him 
again  ?  " 


i88  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"I  haven't  stumbled  over  him  —  that  is,  I  mean  not 
to  any  great  extent.  I  wish  I  had,  for  he's  a  most 
refreshing  person,"  answered  Lucy,  at  first  surprised 
into  confused  utterance  and  next  growing  defiant  and 
continuing  recklessly:  "Didn't  you  recognize  him  as 
the  college  friend  of  CharUe  Ashton  ?  Oh,  I  thought 
you  did !  Well,  he  is,  anyway,  though  he  wouldn't  go 
to  Charlie's  red  New  Year's  tea,  even  when  I  begged 
him ;  and  he  doesn't  go  to  dances  or  play  bridge,  for 
he's  on  the  jump  most  of  the  time  with  his  newspaper 
work.  He's  been  to  the  house  a  couple  of  times,  with 
Charhe,  of  course,  and  father  being  at  home  and  unshak- 
able, we  four  have  sat  down  to  a  solemn  game  of  genu- 
ine whist ;  and  you  know  yourself  that  to  sit  opposite 
to  a  yoimgish  man  for  two  whole  evenings  under  such 
circumstances  and  not  hate  him  is  a  proof  of  remark- 
able character,  and  as  I  can't  be  accused  of  anything  of 
that  kind,  it  lies  with  him,  you  see." 

"Did  he  ask  for  the  keys  that  night?"  said  Brooke, 
with  overtransparent  innocence,  which,  however,  passed 
unnoticed. 

"  No,  quite  another  time,  when,  having  observed  my 
intense  interest  in  cards,  he  dropped  in  between  assign- 
ments (while  he  was  waiting  for  it  to  be  time  to  take 
the  speeches  at  an  important  corporation  dinner,  I 
think)  and  offered  to  teach  me  sohtaire ;  but  that  was  yet 
more  melancholy  than  the  whist,  for  as  he  had  to  look 


BREAD  189 

over  my  shoulder,  I  couldn't  even  gaze  at  him,  so  we 
drifted  to  casino,  which  allowed  both  sight  and  speech ! 

"Really,  Brooke,  he  is  an  awfully  nice  fellow;  a 
gentleman  and  poor  as  a  church  mouse,  for  though 
Charlie  says  his  father  would  overtook  his  distaste  for 
the  hereditary  family  business,  a  stepmother  has  re- 
cently occurred,  whose  pohcy  it  is  to  keep  the  feud  boil- 
ing. But  you  see  the  fact  that  he  can't  afford  to  marry, 
as  Charlie  says,  and  plainly  stating  it,  puts  everything 
on  a  nice  friendly  basis,  with  no  possible  misunderstand- 
ing on  either  side,  which  is  quite  delightful,"  and  Lucy 
bridled  with  an  amusing  air  of  disinterested  and  sisterly 
virtue. 

So  the  time  slipped  away,  as  it  has  a  way  of  doing 
under  like  circumstances,  and  the  cross  streak  of  sun- 
light that  illuminated  the  title  "The  Pilgrim's  Progress," 
on  the  lower  shelf  of  the  diamond-paned  bookcase  top- 
ping the  desk,  told  Brooke,  now  becoming  versed  in  the 
language  of  such  things,  that  it  was  past  four  o'clock. 

"Now  we  will  have  some  tea  before  the  Hendersons 
come  for  you,"  she  said,  moving  a  quaint  spindle-legged 
table  from  the  comer  to  a  convenient  place  by  the 
lounge,  and  lifting  one  of  the  flaps. 

"Yes,  we  have  it  as  usual  every  day,  mother  and  I, 
all  by  ourselves,  except  once  in  a  while  when  Mr.  Stead 
joins  us;  and  though  Adam  scorns  tea,  I  find  that  he 
happens  in  if  fresh  cakes  are  about,  and  Mrs.  Peck  has 


I90  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

simply  spoiled  us  with  her  seed  cookies,  though  of  course 
in  another  week  that  sort  of  thing  will  all  be  over. 

"No,  don't  come  and  help,  sit  quite  still  while  I  get 
the  tray  and  kettle.  Mother  will  make  the  tea;  you 
know  the  girls  always  said,  even  in  the  rush  of  the  season, 
that  a.  cup  of  her  tea  was  something  to  remember,  and 
the  making  of  it  seems  to  pull  her  together." 

The  three  women  had  but  just  gathered  about  the 
little  table,  with  Tatters  sitting  sedately  beside,  sniffing 
and  coaxing  for  cookies,  by  waving  one  paw  in  the  air, 
while  Pam  found  herself  being  fed  literally  in  the  lap 
of  luxury  as  personified  by  Lucy,  when  a  clanging  of 
heavy  shaft-bells  sounded,  quite  unlike  the  merry  jingle 
of  the  usual  sleigh,  and  then  stopped  suddenly,  while 
at  almost  the  same  moment  the  ring  in  the  brass  hon's 
mouth  that  was  the  door-knocker  sounded  a  vigorous 
rat-tat-tat ! 

"It's  the  Hendersons;  they've  come  for  me ! "  cried 
Lucy,  looking  from  Mrs.  Lawton  to  Brooke  anxiously 
and  jumping  up  in  a  confusion  unusual  for  this  young 
person,  who  prided  herself  upon  never  being  caught  ofiF 
guard.  For  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  it  might  be 
painful  for  her  friends  to  have  their  privacy  thus  invaded 
by  those  who  were  nothing  if  not  gossipingly  critical, 
while  at  the  same  time  she  made  a  motion  as  if  to 
put  on  her  outer  garments  before  answering  the  knock. 

Brooke's  face,  too,  reflected  something  of  her  appre- 


BREAD  191 

hension,  but  Mrs.  Lawton  arose  quietly,  her  head  uncon- 
sciously taking  the  half  backward  poise  of  mingled 
dignity  and  courtesy  which  many  women  of  her  world 
had  tried  in  vain  to  imitate.  Stopping  Lucy  by  a  single 
gesture,  she  said:  "Do  not  hurry,  it  is  still  quite  early; 
surely  our  friends  will  be  glad  to  join  us,  for  they  have 
already  had  a  long  drive  and  it  has  been  growing  bitterly 
cold  these  two  hours  past.  Who  did  you  say  made  up 
the  party  beside  Paula  and  Leonie  Henderson?" 

"Violet  Lang,  the  Bleecker  brothers,  and  Charlie 
Ashton,"  repUed  Lucy,  sinking 'meekly  back  into  her 
chair,  holding  Pam  up  before  her  face  as  a  sort  of  screen 
against  consequences. 

"Brooke,  will  you  please  get  some  fresh  tea,  bread, 
and  butter,  and  ask  Adam  to  show  the  coachman  the 
way  to  the  bam,  where  he  can  shelter  the  horses  and 
warm  himself  by  Larsen's  little  wood  stove?"  Then, 
as  the  second  battery  of  knocks  began,  Mrs.  Lawton 
went  swiftly  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open,  reveaUng 
Charlie  Ashton,  enveloped  to  the  eyes  in  the  most  pic- 
turesque of  furs,  beating  his  hands  and  stamping  his  feet 
with  the  cold. 

At  the  unexpected  sight  of  the  sweet-faced  woman 
at  the  door,  backgrounded  by  the  hospitable  firelit 
interior,  Ashton  dropped  back  the  hooded  arrangement 
that  covered  his  head,  and,  holding  out  both  hands, 
grasped  those  of  Mrs.  Lawton  with  a  fervor  and  expres- 


192  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

sion  of  face  that  said  twenty  times  more  than  the  con- 
ventional words  of  greeting  that  followed. 

Would  they  all  come  in  for  a  cup  of  tea?  Just 
wouldn't  they,  though !  The  ladies  were  growling  most 
dangerously  about  the  wind,  their  ears,  etc.,  and  he'd  dig 
them  out  of  that  uncomfortable  omnibus  sleigh  in  a  jiffy ! 

When  the  six  had  fairly  entered  and  been  unwrapped 
from  their  furs  in  the  square  hall,  and  the  female  por- 
tion had  patted  up  ragged  locks  at  Great-grandma  West's 
eagle  mirror  that  faced  the  old  clock,  Brooke  (aided  by 
Mrs.  Peck,  who  arose  at  once  to  the  country  watchword 
"company")  had  returned  with  fresh  tea  and  two  plates, 
one  of  thin  bread  and  butter,  the  other  of  wafer-like 
cheese  sandwiches,  while  the  hospitable  influence  of  the 
teakettle  put  the  visitors  quite  at  their  ease.  As  for 
the  men,  they  were  naturally  and  frankly  delighted  at 
seeing  old  friends,  at  the  dogs,  the  genuine  simplicity 
of  the  house,  and  with  the  good  things. 

True,  the  colour  had  rushed  to  Brooke's  face  as 
Charlie  Ashton  had  greeted  her,  but  no  reference  was 
made  to  the  letter  sent  to  his  care  save  a  significant  press- 
ure of  the  hand,  which  somehow  gave  Brooke  comfort 
and  a  feeling  of  championship. 

The  women  talked  rather  nervously  of  the  gossip  of 
everyday  and  eyed  the  surroundings  in  an  uncomfortable, 
furtive  sort  of  way  that,  as  Lucy  wrote  Brooke  after- 
ward, must  have  nearly  made  them  cross-eyed.   The  men 


BREAD  193 

roamed  about  openly  after  being  bidden  by  their  hostess 
to  make  themselves  at  home  and  go  where  they  pleased, 
"even  into  the  pantry!"  This  they  presently  did. 
Charlie  Ashton,  returning  with  one  of  Miss  Keith's 
jars  of  strawberry  jam  carried  aloft,  and  holding  out 
the  empty  sandwich  plate,  begged  for  more  bread  to 
spread  it  on. 

"Very  well,"  said  Brooke,  recovering  her  old-time 
gayety,  "only  you  must  come  to  the  kitchen  and  cut  it 
for  yourself;  my  hand  is  quite  tired." 

"Where  did  you  buy  such  dehghtful  sandwich  bread 
in  this  out-of-the-way  place?"  inquired  Miss  Hender- 
son, patronizingly.  "  It  is  awfully  difl&cult  to  get  it  even 
in  New  York,  and  it's  one  of  Tokay's  specialties  that 
lets  him  ask  such  fabulous  prices  for  his  sandwiches, 
and  this  is  even  a  shade  better.  I  wish  I  could  get  the 
recipe  just  to  start  a  rival  and  pique  him,  he's  so  lordly ! " 

"The  bread?"  said  Brooke,  looking  back  over  her 
shoulder,  "oh,  I  make  it.  The  recipe?  That  is  one 
of  the  West  family  inheritances  that  I  cannot  part  with," 
but  as  she  spoke  an  idea  entered  Brooke's  teeming 
brain,  which  remained  there  for  many  days  awaiting 
development. 

Then  the  adieus  were  said,  Brooke  whispering  to 
Lucy,  as  she  drew  her  inside  for  a  final  hug,  "Remember, 
in  the  spring  you  are  to  come  to  stay  with  me,  even  if 
the  sky  falls." 


194  AT  THE   SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

To  which  Lucy  replied,  "If  I  may  do  as  you  do  in 
every  way,  it  is  a  bargain."  Then  the  door  closed, 
and  the  jingle  of  bells  died  away  in  the  distance. 

Brooke,  going  to  the  kitchen,  collected  the  crusts 
clipped  from  the  sandwiches  into  her  chicken  dish,  Mrs. 
Peck,  who  had  miraculously  kept  in  the  background, 
remarking  that  she  never  saw  pleasanter  gentlemen 
and  that  for  solid  satisfaction  in  feeding  company, 
give  her  males. 

The  men,  speeding  downhill  in  the  sleigh,  praised 
house  and  hostesses  alike  and  said  that  they  had  never 
been  to  a  finer  tea-party,  the  Bleecker  brothers  declar- 
ing that  Brooke's  cheese  sandwiches  knocked  the 
truffle  and  lettuce  messes  of  Ashton's  pink,  yellow,  and 
red  teas  out  of  the  game.  For  some  unaccountable 
reason,  however,  the  women  were  very  silent,  but  that 
might  have  been  because  with  Lucy's  return  they  were 
again  one  man  short. 


CHAPTER  XII 

REVELATION 

Winter  was  loitering  through  its  last  calendar  month, 
although  it  usually  fastens  its  iron  claws  upon  the  first 
days  of  spring  also,  and  is  dislodged  only  after  a  gusty 
struggle.  Brooke  turned  from  the  cross-way  into  the 
river  road,  upon  the  daily  walk  she  forced  herself  to 
take  in  all  but  impossible  weather,  according  to  her 
compact  with  Dr.  Russell.  Of  walking  in  general  she 
would  have  declared  that  she  was  passionately  fond,  but 
navigating  the  uneven  roads,  scarred  by  the  storms  of  a 
winter  of  unusual  severit} ,  did  not  come  under  the  usual 
term. 

After  crossing  an  especially  slippery  bit  she  paused 
to  rest  for  a  moment,  supporting  herself  by  the  rough 
fence  of  spUt  rails  that  made  a  barrier  between  the  road 
edge  and  the  rocky  bank  which  fell  away,  at  first  sharply, 
and  then  more  gradually  toward  the  Moosatuk.  As 
she  stood  there,  looking  up  and  down,  the  saying  came 
forcibly  to  her,  "Whosoever  loves  the  land  in  February, 
loves  for  Ufe."  Did  she  love  nature,  or  was  she  only 
baffled  and  cowed  by  its  omnipotence  and  bent  to  it  by 

195 


196  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

the  force  of  necessity?  This  day  she  herself  could  not 
have  judged. 

All  the  sources  of  inspiration  seemed  closed.  Silence 
reigned  in  the  R\ver  Kingdom;  the  voice  of  the  ruler 
was  stilled.  Great,  sooty  crows,  lean  and  ravenous,  pa- 
trolled the  river  meadows,  croaking  ominously  as  they 
quarried  a  meal  from  the  frozen  wild  apples,  or  rent 
asunder  the  few  bhghted  ears  that  remained  in  the  corn- 
fields. 

The  day  before  had  been  one  of  sleet  and  wind ;  no 
human  being  had  even  passed  the  homestead  —  merely 
a  brindled  cat  of  the  half- wild  breed,  and  he  had  scuttled 
along  on  the  other  side  of  the  road  under  cover  of  the 
wall.  Robert  Stead  was  ill  of  a  sudden  cold,  Adam  had 
reported  when  he  returned  from  his  daily  lessons,  con- 
sequently Josd,  the  Mexican  half-breed  factotum,  had 
not  left  the  shack  even  to  fetch  the  mail. 

Thinner  than  when  she  had  come  to  Gilead  a  month 
before,  Brooke's  supple  figure  had  the  spring  and  elas- 
ticity of  physical  health  in  spite  of  its  lack  of  roundness, 
for  the  long  nights  of  sleep  and  the  simpHcity  of  the  daily 
routine  offset  the  strain  of  unaccustomed  toil.  Neither 
was  she  lonely  in  the  common  meaning  of  the  word, 
which  always  implies  a  great  degree  of  leisure ;  also  she 
was  young,  and  Bulwer  was  right  —  "  The  young  are 
never  lonely."  Then  there  were  the  books  that  the 
silent  man  brought  her  —  poetry,  story,  and  all  the  lore 


REVELATION  197 

of  her  fellows,  the  birds  and  beasts  of  the  field,  that 
heretofore  had  been  to  her  unknown  creatures  of  mys- 
tery; while  Adam  (she  had  never  called  him  the  Cub 
since  the  night  of  his  return)  and  she  had  many  new  sym- 
pathies, and  when  the  boy,  inspired  by  the  talk  of  his 
teacher,  rushed  in  to  tell  her  of  the  track  that  he  thought 
perhaps  might  belong  to  a  fox  or  a  mink,  or  with  the 
surmise  that  a  strange  bird  was  feeding  by  the  granary, 
she  was  as  eager  as  he  to  see  and  to  prove  it. 

The  grisly  mood  that  had  seized  upon  her  this 
1 2th  day  of  February  was  bom  of  the  sudden  stepping 
into  the  foreground  of  the  future  with  all  its  necessities, 
which,  until  that  moment,  had  been  blended  optimisti- 
cally with  the  middle  distance  at  the  very  least. 

In  two  days  more  Mrs.  Peck's  period  of  "accommo- 
dation" would  be  over;  the  ist  of  March  Larsen  would 
go  to  Gordon,  and  the  spring  work  must  be  begun  if 
they  would  eat  of  the  harvest.  Toil  as  she  and  the 
boy  might  with  their  hands,  there  must  either  be  more 
money,  or  cattle  and  land  must  be  parted  with,  the 
homestead  depleted,  and  the  family  start  on  that  dread- 
ful shriveUing  process  of  acquiring  the  habit  of  doing 
with  less  and  less,  instead  of  pushing  forward  to  fresh 
effort,  which  enervates  the  mental,  and  finally  the  moral, 
nature,  and  has  made  some  parts  of  New  England  a 
graveyard  of  abandoned  farms.  For  the  thousandth 
time  Brooke  thought  of  her  mother's  Uttle  dower, — this, 


198  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

if  it  had  not  vanished,  would  have  more  than  doubled 
the  monthly  yield,  —  then  she  put  the  thought  from  her 
as  she  had  done  before,  but  this  time  less  forcibly. 

With  all  around  ice,  snow,  dusky  tree  trunks,  and 
rock  of  granite,  she  felt  all  the  sensations  that  would 
belong  to  a  wild  animal  at  bay.  Indeed,  she  might 
have  Ungered  on  there  to  her  hurt,  had  not  Tatters 
barked  and  pulled  her  by  the  skirt. 

"Yes,  I  will  come  now,  old  man !  I'm  sorry  I  stood 
so  long;  I  know  your  paws  must  be  chilled!"  she  ex- 
claimed ruefully.  "You  want  to  go  to  Gilead  village 
instead  of  to  the  foot  of  Windy  Hill  to  see  old  Mrs.  Fen- 
ton?  Well,  so  be  it,  we  shall  see  more  people  on  that 
road;  besides,  I  think  that  both  you  and  I  need  some- 
thing from  the  store,  —  post-stamps,  and  lavender  oil, 
for  I'm  going  to  try  my  hand  at  painting,  you  see,  Tat- 
ters, if  it's  only  Easter  bonbonniferes.  Cookies  ?  Yes, 
sugar  cookies,  and  you  can  get  two  stale  ones  for  this 
penny.  Watch  out,  Tatters,"  and  Brooke,  throwing 
ofif  her  dismal  mood  with  an  effort,  held  the  copper  coin 
before  his  nose  as  she  spoke,  and  the  dog,  comprehend- 
ing either  tone,  word,  gesture,  or  all  three,  preceded 
his  mistress  joyfully  in  an  uneven  but  steady  trot,  that 
ate  up  the  road  and  caused  her  fairly  to  break  step  in 
order  not  to  be  left  behind. 

.The  cookies  were  bought  and  eaten,  mistress  and  dog 
resting  awhile  at  the  little  shop  that  sold  simple  drugs, 


REVELATION  199 

etc.,  and  eleven  o'clock  saw  Brooke  climbing  the  upper 
road  toward  home.  She  had  gone  but  half  of  the  way 
when,  missing  Tatters,  she  turned  about  to  look  for  him. 
Whistling  and  waiting  a  moment,  she  saw  his  head  ap- 
pearing slowly  over  the  last  upward  roll  in  the  road,  and 
noticed  that  he  was  Umping  painfully.  She  hurried  back 
to  where  he  had  paused,  as  soon  as  he  knew  that  he  was 
in  no  danger  of  being  deserted,  and  he  began  to  lick 
one  of  his  front  paws,  which  had  been  cut  by  a 
sharp,  jagged  piece  of  ice,  and  which  was  bleeding  pro- 
fusely. KneeUng  in  the  road  beside  him,  Brooke 
moistened  her  handkerchief  by  the  slow  process  of  hold- 
ing snow  in  her  hands  until  it  melted,  and,  after  cleans- 
ing the  cut  as  well  as  she  could,  wound  the  handkerchief 
tight  around  it. 

"You  can't  hobble  a  mile  in  this  plight,  neither  can  I 
carry  you.  Will  you  lie  up  there  on  that  dry  moss  in 
the  spot  where  the  snow  has  melted,  and  wait  until  I 
can  send  Adam  for  you  ?  "  .  and  Brooke  took  a  few  steps 
uphill  to  illustrate  what  she  meant  while  waiting  for 
his  answer. 

No,  Tatters  emphatically  declined  to  wait,  for  as  soon 
as  she  had  moved  a  step  he  began  to  hobble  on  three  legs, 
while  at  the  same  time  the  leaden  sky  shed  a  few  big 
snowflakes,  as  if  to  show  casually  what  might  be  ex- 
pected at  any  time  before  night.  So  his  mistress  halted 
and  began  to  look  about  as  if  for  a  possible  suggestion. 


200  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Presently  the  head  of  a  meek,  ginger-coloured  horse 
began  to  rise  above  a  steep  "  thank-you-ma'am."  A 
stout  body  and  four  legs  followed,  next  a  covered  wagon, 
such  as  milk  pedlers  use,  with  a  glass  front,  through 
which  a  man's  face  looked  out.  The  sight  was  such  a 
relief  to  Brooke  that  she  made  no  pretence  of  concealing 
the  fact,  but  waited  until  the  team  came  alongside,  when 
she  read  the  legend  "Mrs.  Banks'  Homemade  Pies," 
printed  in  elaborately  shaded  letters  on  the  side  of  the 
canopy. 

The  horse  stopped  of  its  own  accord  on  the  small 
plateau,  the  driver  dropped  his  window  and  looked  out, 
smiUng  cheerfully.  It  was  anything  but  a  handsome 
face,  —  that  of  a  man  who  was  probably  sixty  but  might 
be  less,  weathered  and  somewhat  sharp;  small  gray 
eyes,  but  with  a  merry  twinkle,  peered  from  under 
shaggy,  sandy  eyebrows,  that  matched  a  half-starved 
mustache.  The  hair  o^  the  head  was  gray,  and  from 
it  at  right  angles  two  very  sizable  ears  stuck  out  with 
somewhat  startling  effect.  Yet,  in  spite  of  these  details, 
the  whole  was  a  face  to  inspire  trust. 

"Miss  Keith  West's  dog,  and  in  trouble,  I  take  it," 
was  his  opening  remark.  "I'm  goin'  straight  past  her 
house,  and  I'll  fetch  him  up  if  you  like  and  reUeve  your 
mind,  as  you  seem  partial  to  animals." 

"Could  you  take  me,  too?"  asked  Brooke,  returning 
his  smile,  "that  is,  if  I  shall  not  make  your  load  too 


REVELATION  201 

heavy,  for  though  Tatters  seems  to  know  you"  (Tatters 
had  given  the  coolest  sort  of  tail  wag  at  the  sound  of  the 
man's  voice),  "I'm  afraid  he  will  not  go  without  me.'* 

"So  you  are  travelling  uphill  too  —  cUmb  right  in, 
though  I  reckon  you'll  hev  to  set  on  this  box  here. 
Do  you  happen  to  be  one  uv  Miss  Keith's  folks  that 
owns  the  farm  and  wuz  comin'  to  live  there  when  she 
goes  to  Boston?  Though,  as  I  says  to  my  wife  (she's 
Mrs.  Banks,  Homemade  Pies,  and  I'm  Mr.  Banks  that 
peddles  'em,  besides  raisin'  and  pickin'  the  berries  and 
apples  and  pumpkins  fer  their  innards,  along  with  a 
considerable  lot  of  garden  sass),  I  says,  *  Keith'll  never 
make  up  her  mind  to  go;  the  city  isn't  all  it's  cracked  up 
to  be  when  onct  you're  used  to  plenty  o'  room  to  move 
and  free  empty  air.'  What  air  there  is  in  big  cities  is 
so  chuck  full  o'  noise  and  smell  and  one  thing  and 
another,  you  wouldn't  know  it.  Why,  it's  worse  than 
the  Methody  church  down  in  the  holler,  when  they  had 
a  revival  meetin'  on  a  summer  night,  and  felt  called  to 
close  the  winders  on  account  of  gnats. 

"Yes,  I  Uved  in  N'  York  six  months,  —  it'll  be  nigh 
five  years  ago.  You  see,  the  farm  didn't  pay  as  it  uster 
when  I  raised  six  children  on  it  and  we  was  all  satisfied. 
Everything  doin'  got  to  be  more  wholesale  and  knocked 
out  us  small  fry.  Next,  for  a  spell,  I  took  to  the  rail- 
road; got  a  job  through  one  of  the  big  bugs  down  ter 
Stonebridge,  and  after  a  time  got  ter  be  conductor  on 


202  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

the  through  express  freight,  sleepin'  home  every  other 
night.  Well,  it  gave  me  a  chance  to  see  life,  I'm  glad  to 
say,  for  which  I'd  aUus  hankered,  but  it  was  a  nervous 
job,  and  kep'  me  too  far  above  the  ground,  which  was 
my  bom  station. 

"Then  the  boys  coaxed  ma  and  me  to  go  to  N'  York, 
she  to  keep  a  flat  for  'em,  —  I  suppose  maybe  you've 
seen  one  o'  them  contrary  sort  of  outfits,  a  floor  divided 
Tip  small  like  a  parlour  box  car  for  racing  stock,  well 
enough  looking  till  you  close  the  doors,  then  everybody 
shook  up  together  until  you're  sick  o'  the  sight  and  smeU 
o'  your  very  own.  All  of  God's  sunHght  you  get  is  what's 
dribbled  in  down  a  flue,  like  the  chute  of  a  feed  bin,  and 
not  a  scrap  o'  grass  to  bleach  clothes  on,  only  to  hang 
'em  out  in  a  little  narrer  place  to  sweat  on  a  hne  Hke 
bacon  in  a  smoke-house.  Mother  withered  so  that 
summer  I  was  afeared  she'd  let  go  the  tree  before 
autumn,  like  a  windfall  apple;  and  as  for  the  'genteel 
work  for  my  old  age '  the  boys  had  got  me  —  genteel  be 
damned!    I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  —  ?" 

"Lawton." 

"  Oh,  then  you  are  one  o'  Miss  Keith's  kin.  But  that 
word's  one  that  remains  of  my  experience  on  the  through 
freight  that  somehow's  too  handy,  though  wrong,  to  oe 
quite  give  up.  What  was  that  job  with  short  hours  that 
was  to  keep  me  clean-handed  and  from  bendin'  my 
back?    To  wear  a  plum-red  coat,  Hke  a  circus  monkey, 


REVELATION  205 

and  stand  in  a  bank  on  a  stone  floor,  that  made  me  cold 
as  an  ice  pond  when  you  hole  fer  frost  fish,  without  the 
pleasure  o'  catchin',  and  openin'  and  shuttin'  the  door 
all  day  fer  a  lot  of  fool  Jays  and  Jenny  Wrens,  well  able 
to  do  it  fer  themselves,  and  me  reachin'  toward  sixty ! 
Genteel  nothin'I  My  spirit  broke  before  noon  of  the 
second  day,  and  goin'  to  that  flat  I  just  picked  up 
mother  and  we  lit  out  fer  home,  which  the  summer 
folks  that  rented  it  had  left,  we  leavin'  a  note  behind 
like  young  folks  'lopin'.  Then,  when  we'd  set  and  con- 
sidered a  spell,  the  Lord  pointed  out  pies,  like  a  sky- 
fallen  revelation ;  the  boys  caved  in  and  gave  us  a  horse ; 
now  life's  jest  a  hummin'  along  brisk  as  a  swarm  o'  bees ! 
And  once  more  the  Lord's  borne  it  in  upon  us  two  old 
folks,  after  that  discipline  of  city  life,  that  if  we  was 
goin'  to  scratch  a  Hvin'  nowadays  we'd  got  to  give  folks 
jest  what  they  want,  and  make  it  good,  and  no  skimpin'. 
Folks  in  Gilead  County  eats  pies,  and  they  need  'em 
good!" 

"Cousin  Keith  has  been  away  a  month  now,"  said 
Brooke,  when  Mr.  Banks  paused  for  breath,  "and  she 
writes  that  she  is  enjoying  herself  immensely,  so  I  do 
not  think  that  she  is  hkely  to  return." 

"She's  actoolly  gone,  then?  That  knocks  me  out," 
said  the  pieman,  with  a  disappointed  droop  in  his  voice. 
"I  didn't  know  that,  fer  I've  been  goin'  the  short  way 
and  haven't  been  over  this  upper  road  since  New  Year, 


204  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

the  goin's  been  so  bad.  I  alius  reckoned  on  puttin'  up 
at  the  West  farm  for  the  noon  hour  to  bait  Maria  here 
and  get  my  coffee  het  up;  but  maybe  your  ma  won't 
fancy  shelterin'  strangers,  for  I  think  Miss  Keith  said 
the  farm  came  through  the  female  line  and  was  again 
rightly  vested  in  a  female." 

"I  own  the  farm,  and  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  you 
rest  and  feed  your  horse  there  and  take  your  dinner 
with  us  to-day,"  said  Brooke,  taking  a  mischievous  sat- 
isfaction in  the  effect  of  her  words  on  the  funny  little 
man. 

"You!  a  slip  of  a  girl  like  you  own  the  snuggest 
small  place  in  the  county,  and  best  kep*  up!"  he 
ejaculated,  his  jaw  dropping  with  reflex  wonder;  "but 
maybe  you're  married?" 

"No." 

"Keepin'  company,  then?" 

"No"  —  this  time  Brooke  had  great  difficulty  in 
controlling  either  voice  or  countenance. 

"Left  a  beau  in  town  or  in  foreign  parts  somewhere, 
then?"   he  persisted,  almost  anxiously. 

"No"  —  but  this  time  the  word  had  a  different 
sound. 

"Not  even  got  picked  out  yet?  well,  I  want  ter  know ! 
I  thank  you  kindly  for  yer  invitation,  and  I'll  be  pleased 
to  go  in.  Hev  you  got  a  ma  and  pa,  or  only  a  hired 
man?" 


REVELATION  205 

With  a  person  of  his  persistence  social  topics  might 
have  now  become  embarrassing,  but  chance  turned  the 
subject  at  the  right  moment,  taking  the  shape  of  a  covey 
of  quail,  huddled  under  some  cedar  bushes  by  the  road- 
side. The  pieman  spied  them  first,  and  at  his  sharp 
pull  patient  Maria  stopped,  although  the  spot  was  not 
very  suitable  for  such  a  halt.  Brooke  expected  to  see 
the  flock  either  rise  in  a  body  or  disappear  in  the  under- 
brush, but  they  did  neither,  only  huddhng  still  closer, 
while,  inexperienced  as  she  was,  she  noticed  that  even 
their  ruffled  feathers  illy  hid  the  leanness  of  their 
bodies. 

"The  game  along  this  route  has  suflfered  this  winter, 
and  it's  missed  me,"  he  whispered,  preparing  to  raise  the 
curtain  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  wagon  to  the  birds. 

"Raise  up  a  minute,  please,  so's  I  can  git  some  buck- 
wheat out  uv  that  box,  and  keep  a  hand  on  Tatters,  else, 
lame  as  he  is,  he'll  out  and  flush  the  covey." 

Brooke  did  as  she  was  told,  while  the  pieman  scooped 
up  a  handful  of  unhuUed  buckwheat  from  the  box,  and, 
letting  himself  down  quietly  from  the  wagon,  scattered 
it  among  the  bayberry  bushes,  not  too  near  to  the  flock, 
yet  in  plain  sight  of  it.  Returning,  he  re-fastened  the 
curtain  and  started  the  horse  again  before  he  said  a  word 
in  answer  to  the  interrogation  of  Brooke's  face.  Reach- 
ing the  next  level,  a  dozen  rods  on,  he  half  turned  the 
wagon  in  order  to  give  a  clear  view  down  the  hill;  the 


2o6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

quail  had  crossed  the  road  and  were  feeding  eagerly 
upon  the  buckwheat,  like  a  brood  of  chickens. 

"Puzzled,  ain't  yer,  ter  see  a  Yankee  scatterin'  good 
fodder  by  the  way?"  said  the  pieman,  highly  gratified. 
"Well,  it  may  seem  uncommon,  but  the  truth  is  these 
five  years  I've  been  peddlin'  and  coverin'  a  wild  tract  of 
country  twict  every  week  in  cold  and  heat,  rain  and  sun, 
I've  come  to  think  that  man  ain't  the  only  created  thing 
that  the  Lord  has  cause  to  be  proud  uv  or  care  fer.  I've 
got  kinder  close  to  the  wild  folks  along  the  route,  which 
after  all  is  but  accordin'  to  Scripture,  that  bids  us  *  Con- 
sider the  way  the  lilies  grow  and  look  to  the  fowls  of  the 
air,'  and  says  the  Lord  himself  ain't  too  busy  to  indulge 
in  counting  sparrers  —  (if  he'd  only  worded  it  song  or 
chippin'  sparrers  it  would  be  more  comfortin',  though  he 
couldn't  hev  meant  English  ones,  cause  that  island 
wasn't  discovered  in  those  days,  and  so  is  of  no  account 
in  Scripture,  which  must  rile  their  pride). 

"  I  alius  did  like  birds,  even  way  back  when  I  followed 
the  plough,  and  of  course  I  knew  some  of  them  apart,  — 
robins  and  swaUers  and  phoebes  and  hawks  and  all  the 
gamies,  —  and  I  jest  plumb  knew  that  when  crows  sat 
on  the  fence  a-quaverin',  it  was  interestin'  and  worthy 
conversation,  most  Uke,  if  we  could  only  sense  it.  But 
it  was  after  that  hell-fire  summer  in  the  city  that  I  got  the 
call  to  treat  'em  like  my  brothers  and  help  'em  out  with 
food  in  winter  like  we  would  neighbouring  house  folks. 


REVELATION  207 

"Soon  as  it  come  hot  weather  there,  that  time  in  N 
York,  I  couldn't  set  closed  into  meetin'  of  Sundays 
(though  mother,  she  sit  it  out  for  sake  of  principle),  and 
I  don't  believe  the  Lord  does,  either,  —  stands  to 
reason  he's  got  too  much  sense,  not  havin'  to  set  an 
example,  —  so  I  uster  wander  out  through  that  long 
narrer  park  o'  theirn,  and  when  onct  I  cut  clean  through 
westward,  I  strayed  into  that  big  museum  where  they 
keep  the  natural  rehcs,  and  there  I  come  face  to  face 
with  all  the  birds  that  ever  wuz  together  since  Eve's 
time.  When  I'd  observed  all  the  cockatoos  and  parrer- 
keets  and  such  like,  I  went  on  a  bit  further,  'n  if  there 
warn't  a  pattridge  a  struttin'  on  the  leaves  with  his  tail 
all  fanned  out,  and  beyond  it  the  brown  eggs  was  nested 
in  a  ground  holler.  I  passed  that  by  and  next  I  seen  a 
catbird  in  a  syringa  bush  and  a  robin  on  an  apple  branch 
and  a  highholder  on  a  stump,  that  set  ray  heart  a-bumpin' 
so  I  was  all  of  a  tremble  and  sidled  off  into  a  small  room 
to  set  down.  When  I  looked  up  next,  what  was  there 
in  a  case  marked  something  about  'seasonable  birds' 
but  a  big  medder  lark.  His  breast  was  jest  as  fresh  and 
yaller  as  when  he  sings  from  a  tree-top  to  yer  in  plantin' 
time,  or  turns  and  teeters  on  a  fence  to  keep  you  from 
seein'  him  too  plain,  and  it  seemed  as  if  I  heard  him 
calling  fer  spring.  That  broke  me  all  up,  and  I  jest 
leaned  over  and  cried  it  out  into  the  white  Sunday 
handkerchief  mother  got  me,  'cause  my  red  ones  jarred 
the  boys. 


2o8  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"I  think  it  was  the  sight  of  those  birds  gave  me 
grit  to  break  loose  fer  home.  That  next  winter  a 
woman  we  sold  eggs  to  over  in  Gordon,  seein'  my  fancy, 
gave  me  a  book  all  about  their  ways  and  needs,  and  so 
ever  since  I've  been  with  'em  in  heart.  My,  but  ain't 
they  company  along  the  lonely  road  bits  and  in  early 
mornings  when  I'm  comin'  home !  (I  go  up  Tuesdays 
and  Fridays  to  sleep  at  Sairy  Ann's,  my  wife's  sister's 
house  near  Gordon,  startin'  fer  home  next  dawn.) 

"Along  in  April  to  see  the  woodcock  flirt  an'  dance's 
as  good's  a  circus.  Sometime,  maybe,  'twould  pleas- 
ure you  to  take  the  trip  with  me,  and  Sairy  Ann'd  be 
proud  to  hev  you  stop  with  her.  My,  here  we  are  at 
your  comer!  How  good  conversation  does  pass  the 
time!" 

Without  in  the  least  realizing  that  he  had  been 
doing  the  whole  of  the  talking,  the  pieman  handed 
Brooke  out  at  the  door  stone,  Tatters  limping  care- 
fully after,  and  Maria  turned  down  the  lane  to  the  bam, 
with  which  she  was  perfectly  familiar. 

Brooke,  hastening  in  to  explain  their  unique  guest  to 
her  mother  and  tend  the  sick  paw,  found  that  Mrs.  Peck 
had  been  sent  for  to  "sit  up"  with  a  bereaved  household 
down  at  Gilead;  telUng  Mrs.  Lawton  that  it  was  ex- 
pected of  her,  no  matter  whom  sl^e  might  be  "accommo- 
dating," she  had  left  immediately,  promising  to  retum 
the  next  night 


REVELATION  209 

Brooke  prepared  the  dinner,  to  which  was  added 
as  a  contribution,  received  in  the  spirit  in  which  it 
was  offered,  one  of  Mrs.  Banks'  most  juicy  whortle- 
berry pies  (truly  the  best  of  its  kind),  which  the  Cub 
pronounced  to  be  "just  bully,"  while  in  turn  the  pieman 
praised  Brooke's  coffee,  and,  for  some  reason  that  he 
could  not  have  explained,  kept  his  knife  in  abeyance, 
while  by  his  cheerful  common  sense  gained  the  respect 
of  his  entertainers. 

After  he  had  left,  taking  Brooke's  ready  promise  to 
go  over  the  route  with  him  some  spring  day  to  see  the 
woodcock  dance  and  hear  the  partridge  drum,  the 
doud  that  his  cheerfulness  had  Ufted  again  settled  over 
the  girl's  spirits.  Why  was  no  gleam  vouchsafed  to 
lighten  her  darkness  as  the  vision  of  pies  had  led  these 
humble  people  into  a  sort  of  promised  land? 

When  she  had  washed  the  dishes  and  made  every- 
thing neat,  it  was  still  only  half-past  two.  She  could 
neither  sew  nor  read  nor  settle  herself  to  write  to  Lucy 
Dean,  her  usual  outlet  when  cast  down;  a  new  sort  of 
restlessness  seized  her,  that  of  a  wild  animal  caged,  who 
paces  to  and  fro  to  its  own  exhaustion. 

Looking  into  her  father's  room,  she  saw  that  he  slept, 
while  Tatters,  his  hurt  paw  comfortably  stretched  out, 
lay  on  the  rug.  Her  mother  was  writing  letters  at  the 
old  desk ;  and  going  out  to  the  bam  she  found  the  Cub, 
with  Pam  of  course  close  by,  mending  some  spring 
p 


2IO  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

traps  that  he  discovered  in  an  old  barrel,  and  preparing 
to  set  them,  for  mink  or  weasel  tracks,  he  could  not  tell 
which,  had  been  seen  that  morning  about  the  chicken 
house.  He  was  so  absorbed  and  fascinated  with  his 
occupation  that  he  only  grunted  answers  to  his  sister's 
questions,  so  she  returned  to  the  house,  reaUzing  that  the 
change  was  doing  wonders  for  the  Cub,  which  was  one 
consolation. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  me?"  she  said,  half  aloud. 
"Is  it  an  illness  coming  on?  or  can  it  be  the  painting 
fever?  The  air  seems  to  sparkle  and  rush  through  me 
like  electricity !  Oh,  why  did  I  not  work  harder  when 
I  had  the  time?  for  now  if  the  desire  comes  I  cannot 
stop,"  and  Brooke  wrung  her  hands,  and  then  laughed 
hysterically  at  her  tragic  action. 

Going  to  her  room,  she  unpacked  palette  and  paint 
box,  and  took  the  maul  stick  from  the  closet,  where  it 
had  remained  all  winter  tied  to  some  umbrellas.  Of 
canvas  she  had  none,  but  hunting  up  some  bits  of 
manila  board  from  between  her  books,  she  took  them 
to  the  kitchen  and  spread  them  on  the  table,  where  she 
had  left  the  turpentine  and  oil.  What  should  she  try? 
The  snow  and  rock  bit  from  the  window  lacked  colour 
and  was  too  harsh  in  outline  to  be  seductive  to  her  mood. 
A  scarlet  geranium  in  a  pot  against  the  dark  window 
frame  caught  her  eye,  and  seating  herself,  she  began  to 
draw  it  in  rapidly  with  chalk  —  anything,  if  it  would  only 


REVELATION  211 

find  vent  for  the  fever  of  action  that  tingled  in  her  finger 
tips. 

She  was  surprised  to  find  that  a  certain  accuracy  as 
well  as  facility  of  touch  had  not  left  her,  in  spite  of  stif- 
fened fingers  and  lack  of  practice.  For  her  colour  sense 
she  claimed  no  credit;  it  was  bom  with  her.  But 
after  the  outline  took  shape  and  she  began  to  paint  and 
give  it  texture,  she  dropped  her  brush  again  as  the 
words  of  Lorenz  seemed  whispered  in  her  ears,  "You 
have  not  yet  had  the  awakening,  for  it  you  must  wait; 
it  is  the  same  with  me;  you  must  interpret  your 
vision  and  see  it  on  the  canvas  before  you  can 
create;  but  first  of  all  you  must  know  and  feel,  even  if 
you  suffer." 

The  awakening  had  not  come  to  her,  and  still  she 
waited ;  did  she  not  now  know  and  feel,  and  had  she  not 
suffered  enough?  The  stiff  geranium  cramped  in  its 
pot  bore  her  no  message  to  interpret,  and  as  a  snow- 
squall  darkened  her  window  she  cast  the  brush  aside. 
Shivering  at  the  utter  silence  of  the  house,  she  fled  to 
her  room  and,  throwing  herself  face  downward  on  her 
bed,  was  abandoning  herself  to  the  spirits  of  darkness, 
when  the  thought  of  her  other  self,  radiating  light  as 
Lorenz  had  painted  her,  crossed  her  wild  mood,  checking 
it,  and  she  lay  quite  still  until  her  pounding  heart  calmed 
to  its  regular  beating,  when  bodily  fatigue  claimed  its 
dole  and  she  fell  asleep. 


212  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

When  she  awoke  it  was  after  five  o'clock;  the 
squall  had  passed  away  and  sunset  light  was  warm- 
ing the  whole  sky,  even  taking  the  chill  from  the 
full  moon,  which  it  had  worn  on  its  apparent  rise 
from  the  river  ice. 

Below  stairs  everything  was  as  she  had  left  it,  and  yet 
a  different  atmosphere  pervaded  the  place,  and  the  ten- 
sion left  her  throat.  The  Cub  came  in  with  the  news,  at 
which  he  seemed  to  think  she  would  rejoice,  that  Rob- 
ert Stead  was  better  and  would  be  out  again  on  the  mor- 
row. Her  mother  expressed  unfeigned  pleasure,  and 
Brooke  was  almost  ashamed  of  the  fact  that  she  had 
for  the  moment  forgotten  that  he  was  ill.  Yet  she 
always  enjoyed  his  visits  and  watched  for  them,  for  he 
was  a  travelled  and  well-read  man,  and,  when  off  his 
guard,  most  entertaining,  and  not  without  a  certain  com- 
peUing  magnetism. 

"Let's  hurry  supper,"  said  the  Cub,  when  he  had 
brought  in  the  milk.  "I've  had  the  last  milking  lesson 
I  need,  and  I  can  do  it  all  right  now  without  pulling  too 
hard,  or  squirting,  or  laming  my  wrists.  Larsen  says 
I'll  be  worth  twenty  a  month  and  board  by  summer  if 
I  keep  on  steady,  —  just  as  if  I  wouldn't!  But  I've  got 
to  keep  the  other  end  up  besides,  and  I've  some  reading 
to  do  to-night,  if  I'm  going  up  to  the  shack  again  in  the 
morning."  Crossing  the  kitchen,  he  picked  his  mother 
up  as  if  she  had  been  a  feather,  and  whirling  her  about, 


REVELATION  213 

gave  her  a  hearty  kiss  that  sent  a  glow  to  her  heart  and 
cheeks  at  the  same  time,  before  he  seated  her,  hke  a 
small  child,  on  the  table  edge,  where  she  struggled, 
laughed,  and  was  sublimely  happy  at  his  rough  caress. 
Then,  further  to  carry  out  his  genial  mood,  he  bounced 
into  his  father's  room  and,  wheeUng  him  to  the  kitchen, 
pushed  the  chair  close  to  the  table,  and  thus  they  all 
supped  together,  a  circumstance  that  had  seemed  im- 
possible in  Mrs.  Peck's  presence. 

After  Adam  Lawton  had  gone  to  bed,  the  Cub 
helping  him  as  usual,  the  boy  settled  himself  by  the 
bright  lamp  in  the  kitchen  with  his  books,  while  Mrs. 
Lawton  and  Brooke  sat  by  the  fireUght  in  the  Hbrary, 
talking  quietly.  Brooke,  hunched  on  the  rug,  leaned 
her  head  back  against  her  mother's  knee,  and  yielded 
to  the  soothing  touch  of  gentle  fingers  upon  her  eyes 
and  brow. 

Presently  Tatters  began  to  growl  deeply  and  give 
what  they  had  learned  to  designate  as  his  animal  bark, 
quite  different  in  quality  from  that  with  which  he  an- 
nounced the  approach  of  man.  Pam,  of  course,  joined 
him,  springing  from  the  cushioned  chair  in  which  she 
slept. 

The  Cub  went  to  the  door  and  Ustened  —  cackles  of 
alarm  were  coming  from  the  chicken  house. 

"It's  the  weasel  or  mink,  or  whatever  it  was  that 
prowled  last  night,"  he  reported.    "I'll  go  out  and  see. 


214  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

because  Stead  says  that  sometimes,  if  you  leave  them 
all  night,  they  gnaw  out  of  the  trap.  Don't  you  want 
to  come  too,  Sis?  Hurry  up,  then,  and  get  your  cape. 
No,  don't  let  the  dogs  out,  they'll  get  pinched  in  the 
trap,  or  chew  the  beast  up,  maybe,  and  I  want  to  keep 
him  whole.  I  guess  the  moon  is  bright  enough,  we  will 
not  need  the  lantern,"  and  seizing  a  stout  stick,  the  Cub 
tiptoed  carefully  out  to  make  as  little  noise  as  possible, 
not  having  yet  learned  that  to  wild  animals  scent  serves 
as  a  warning  even  more  than  sound.  Brooke,  however, 
preferred  to  take  the  lantern,  and  lighting  it,  she  quickly 
followed. 

The  Cub  examined  his  traps.  They  were  untouched, 
but  as  he  knelt  he  saw  a  straight  row  of  tracks  in  the 
snow,  that  were  too  large  to  belong  to  either  weasel  or 
mink.  Following  these,  they  led  him  around  to  the 
roosting  house.  There,  between  it  and  the  open  yard, 
something  that  appeared  to  be  a  small  dog  crouched  in 
the  comer. 

The  moon  shone  brightly  between  the  buildings,  and 
every  hair  of  the  little  beast  stood  out  as  clearly  as  by 
electric  light. 

"It's  a  half-grown  fox,"  whispered  the  Cub,  to 
Brooke.  "  Good  work  if  I  can  only  kill  it ;  there'll 
be  one  less  to  kill  the  fowls.  Look  out  that  it  doesn't 
dodge  past  you  there,  Sis,"  and  the  Cub  was  going 
toward  it,  dub  raised.    But  the  little  fox  never  stirred. 


REVELATION  215 

They  could  only  tell  that  it  was  alive  by  the  heaving  of 
its  lean  sides. 

"Stop!"  said  Brooke,  hoarsely,  laying  a  detaining 
and  no  very  gentle  touch  on  her  brother's  arm.  "I 
won't  have  it  killed.  I  believe  that  it  is  starving,  Uke 
those  quails  I  saw  this  morning,  only  they  could  move, 
and  this  fox  is  too  weak.  I'm  going  to  take  it  in  the  bam 
and  feed  it,  and  make  it  live.  Get  me  some  milk,  and 
eggs,  and  meat." 

"You're  crazy.  Sis;  it  is  only  a  fox,  and  they're  bad 
things.  It'll  bite  you  and  make  no  end  of  a  row,"  but 
as  he  glanced  at  her  face  he  saw  something  there  that 
stopped  all  argument,  and  he  hastened  to  obey. 

Then  Brooke,  placing  the  lantern  on  the  ground,  drew 
nearer  to  the  httle  beast.  Yes,  he  was  starving.  He 
tried  to  stand  and  toppled  over  against  the  shed;  he 
was  powerless  and  at  bay.  Fixing  her  eyes  on  his,  she 
read  his  feelings  interpreted  by  her  own  of  that  very 
afternoon,  and  kneeling  there  in  the  snow,  she  understood 
him. 

A  vital  wave  swept  over  her.  Hanging  the  lantern 
on  her  arm,  she  sUpped  the  cape  from  off  her  shoulders 
with  a  swift  movement,  and  covered  the  fox  with  it, 
wrapping  him  completely.  Then,  Ufting  him  in  her 
arms,  for  he  was  less  weighty  than  a  well-fed  cat, 
she  carried  the  bundle  to  the  bam,  and  slipping 
the  latch,  laid  the  poor  little  beast  on  the  haymow, 


2i6  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE   FOX 

a  futile  snap  and  snarl  or  two  having  been  its  only 
protests. 

When  the  Cub  returned  with  the  various  articles  of 
food,  he  was  astonished  to  see  the  pair  facing  each  other, 
not  a  yard  apart,  with  the  lantern  hanging  from  a  beam 
shedding  hght  upon  the  strange  scene. 

While  the  Cub  was  near  the  fox  would  not  touch  the 
food,  but  when  he  hid  from  its  sight,  after  a  time  it 
lapped  the  egg  that  Brooke  broke  and  put  before  it,  as 
a  dog  would,  and  presently  the  milk ;  then,  stiU  wearing 
the  hunted  look,  settled  deeper  into  the  hay  lair  where 
she  had  placed  it,  panting  and  with  loUing  tongue. 

''We  will  go  away  now  and  leave  it  in  peace;  only 
promise  me,  Adam,  that  when  it  grows  strong  it  shall 
run  free,  and  no  one  shall  kill  it ;  remember,  it  is  my 
guest."  Adam  promised,  and  hastily  securing  the  latch, 
they  went  back  to  the  house.  The  Cub  went  to  the 
library  to  tell  his  mother  of  the  adventure,  but  Brooke 
lingered  in  the  kitchen.  A  half-hour  passed,  and  hear- 
ing no  sound,  the  Cub  went  to  the  door.  Returning 
softly,  he  beckoned  his  mother  to  follow,  and  together 
they  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  doorway,  looking  into 
the  room.  Two  lamps  stood  side  by  side  on  the  mantel- 
shelf, casting  an  oblique  light ;  below  and  at  one  side  of 
the  fireplace  stood  Brooke,  palette  in  hand,  a  straight- 
backed  chair  before  her;  resting  on  its  arms,  as  if 
it  were  an  easel,  was  the  great   oblong  bread-board, 


REVELATION  217 

and  on  this  the  girl  was  painting,  with  broad  rapid 
strokes,  the  head  of  a  fox.  Her  cloak  still  hung  from 
her  shoulders,  her  cheeks  glowed;  her  eyes  they  could 
not  see  until  she  half  turned  her  head  for  a  moment 
as  if  following  a  strayed  memory,  then  they  noticed  a 
strange  hght  in  them  as  of  inspiration. 

Quietly  they  crept  back  into  the  dark  and  waited. 
An  hour  passed;  still  Brooke  kept  at  work.  Another 
thirty  minutes  and  they  heard  the  chair  move  and  again 
they  went  to  the  door. 

Brooke  stood  back  from  the  improvised  easel,  her 
hands  behind  her,  looking  at  her  work.  From  the 
board  gazed  back  the  head  of  the  little  fox,  roughly  done, 
but  with  the  look  in  its  eyes  at  once  hunted,  defiant, 
and  pleading,  —  not  an  image,  a  created  thing,  hving 
and  breathing.  Through  suffering  and  its  kinship  had 
come  the  revelation  to  Brooke  that  if  she  willed  she 
might  be  the  painter  of  animals,  and  as  she  looked 
again,  Lorenz'  words  sounded  in  her  ears.  She  had 
felt  and  suffered,  and  had  seen  her  vision  in  the  eyes 
of  the  hunted  beast.  She  had  interpreted  it,  she  felt  for 
what  it  stood,  and  now,  crude  as  was  the  labor,  it  lived 
under  her  brush.  She  had  awakened,  but  the  strength 
of  the  vital  touch  was  his,  and  he  could  not  know  it. 
Kneeling  before  the  chair  with  clasped  hands,  as  if  at 
some  shrine,  not  to  the  picture,  but  to  what  it  stood  for, 
Brooke  took  new  courage. 


2i8  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Before  his  mother  could  restrain  Adam  he  had  dashed 
across  the  kitchen,  and  stood  a  moment  with  his  hands 
resting  on  his  sister's  shoulders.  Then,  without  warn- 
ing, he  tipped  back  her  head  and  gave  her  a  kiss  of 
genuine  boyish  enthusiasm,  crying,  "That's  a  living 
picture  all  right,  Sis.  Look  out  it  don't  get  away 
from  you.    I  bet  you've  struck  your  luck  this  time." 


CHAPTER  Xm 

AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

In  the  morning  the  Cub  hastened  to  the  bam.  Either 
the  old-fashioned  latch  had  sprung  up,  or  some  one 
had  been  there  before  him,  for  the  little  fox,  having 
eaten  every  scrap  of  food,  and  thereby  gained  strength, 
had  gone  his  way,  which,  according  to  the  string  of 
footprints,  was  up  in  the  rock  and  hemlock  country 
behind  the  farm.  Yet  after  supper  on  that  night, 
and  all  the  others  that  came  before  the  spring  thawing, 
a  woman's  figure,  wearing  a  cape  under  which  was 
concealed  a  dish  of  scraps,  outwitting  Tatters,  shpped 
from  the  pantry  door,  and  going  around  the  bam, 
halted  at  a  flat  rock  set  in  a  group  of  hemlocks,  pres- 
ently returning  with  the  empty  platter,  her  face  wearing 
as  rapt  an  expression  as  that  of  some  pious  woman 
of  old  canying  food  to  the  haunts  of  hermit  or  saint 
of  the  pillar. 

Febmary,  as  if  sick  of  its  dreary  self,  suddenly  fell 
away  before  March's  vigour,  and  its  first  gusty  mood 
had  softened  before  Brooke  and  Adam  reahzed  them- 
selves at  least  the  sole  guardians  of  their  parents  and 

219 


220  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

the  homestead ;  yet  in  spite  of  this  and  the  work  it  en- 
tailed, the  Cub  managed  to  spend  at  least  a  couple  of 
hours  a  day  with  Stead  at  the  lodge  on  Windy  Hill, 
and  Brooke  tried  to  snatch  a  httle  time  for  painting, 
but  even  with  her  mother's  help  her  toil  was  by  far  more 
constant  and  exacting  than  her  brother's.  However, 
direct  motive  had  come  to  both  of  them,  and  that  alone 
can  make  one  walk  sure-footed  on  the  tight  rope  which 
at  intervals  through  life  replaces  a  safe  path.  Brooke 
worked  persistently,  using  Tatters,  Pam,  and  Robert 
Stead's  hunting  dogs  as  studies,  conscious  of  crude- 
ness,  imperfections,  and  the  need  of  criticism,  but  let- 
ting nothing  quench  her  spirit  as  long  as  the  spark  of 
vitahty  flashed  back  at  her.  She  longed  for  the  warm 
weather  to  come,  so  that  she  might  work  outdoors, 
and  use  as  a  studio  an  old  hay- thatched  shed  on  the 
hillside,  once  a  sheepfold,  which  opened  northeast 
toward  the  river  valley. 

At  this  juncture  Robert  Stead,  whose  technical  train- 
ing and  passionate  love  of  nature  and  animal  hfe  gave 
his  words  more  than  a  casual  value,  stepped  in,  both 
as  encourager  and  critic,  and  Brooke  eagerly  promised 
to  try  a  picture  of  Manfred, — "a  serious  order,"  Stead 
called  it, — as  soon  as  the  season  would  permit.  Mean- 
time he  brought  her  books  and  studies  of  animal 
anatomy,  of  whose  cost  she  Uttle  guessed,  and  in  ex- 
plaining the  details  to  her  forgot  both  his  warp  and 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX  221 

himself,  becoming  for  the  time  that  most  enthralling 
of  beings,  the  man  of  middle  age  who  blends  all  the 
directness  and  fervour  of  youth  with  the  subtle  and 
reassuring  charm  of  matured  experience. 

Was  it  a  wonder  that  Brooke  was  glad  at  his  coming  ? 
Between  herself  and  the  usual  man  twice  her  age 
she  would  have  felt  need  for  greater  ceremony  of  out- 
ward deference.  With  Stead  the  friendship  had 
begun  on  the  most  informal  of  footings,  and  been 
almost  instantly  cemented  with  the  gratitude  bom 
of  his  kindness  to  her  brother,  as  well  as  the  mutual 
isolation  of  the  two  households;  while  over  it  all  hung 
Dr.  Russell's  words  of  caution,  that  owing  to  the 
pecuhar  circumstances  of  his  hfe,  she  must  not  regard 
Stead  in  the  same  light  as  other  men  or  magnify  his 
little  acts  of  kindness.  Dear  honest  doctor,  even  he, 
with  all  his  fine  humanity,  could  not  diagnose  the 
human  emotions  with  anything  hke  finality. 

Here  again  the  need  of  money  in  hand,  even  for 
canvas,  pressed  upon  Brooke,  and  like  many  another 
before  her,  she  seized  what  came  nearest  to  hand;  and 
when  the  Cub  discovered  a  head  of  Pam  upon  the 
cover  of  the  sugar  bucket,  he  straightway  removed 
it  from  the  closet  to  his  room,  thereby  letting  some 
very  early  ants  into  the  sugar. 

One  great  lesson  in  portrait  art  Brooke  learned  for 
herself  in  those  lonely  days,  that  whatever  the  care 


222  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

and  detail  of  finish,  the  life  and  likeness  is  the  work 
of  but  a  few  strokes. 

Meanwhile  the  fox's  head  on  the  bread-board  stood 
on  the  mantel-shelf  in  the  kitchen,  watching  Brooke 
as  she  went  about  her  work,  until  she  began  to  feel  a 
mysterious  kinship  with  the  little  doglike  animal  of 
the  narrow  eyes,  and  talked  to  it  as  if  it  was  a  human 
companion. 

One  day  she  had  gone  for  a  call  at  Mrs.  Enoch 
Fenton's,  where,  ever  since  that  first  January  afternoon, 
she  went  when  the  tension  of  the  mental  and  physical 
became  too  great,  to  be  soothed  and  relaxed  by  the 
cripple's  cheerful  common  sense.  She  felt  more  than 
ever  the  absolute  necessity  of  adding  at  once  to  the 
family  income,  as  for  the  second  time  since  their  arrival 
she  had  been  obliged  to  draw  on  the  slender  principal. 
Though  the  real  motive  for  the  visit  was  to  consult 
the  Deacon,  indirectly,  through  his  wife,  about  the 
likelihood  of  finding  a  man  willing  to  cultivate  the  farm 
on  shares,  the  talk  drifted  toward  the  topic  of  ways 
and  means,  in  spite  of  Brooke's  constant  resolve  to 
keep  such  matters  to  herself. 

*"If  you  want  to  get  folks'  money  steady,"  Mrs. 
Fenton  said,  pausing  in  her  occupation  of  sewing  a 
button  on  one  of  the  Deacon's  blue  hickory  shirts, 
and  using  her  thimble  finger  to  point  and  emphasize 
her   remarks,   "you   must  give   'em   something   they 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX  223 

want  and  need  in  exchange  for  it,  and  what  they  need 
most  constant  is  something  good  to  eat  I" 

Brooke  smiled  to  herself,  thinking  of  the  pieman's 
similar  reasoning  concerning  his  wife's  "revelation," 
but  did  not  in  any  way  apply  the  matter  personally 
until  Mrs.  Fenton's  next  sentence. 

"The  jell  and  jam  market  is  a  good  one,  only  it's 
pretty  well  taken  up,  hereabouts,  by  Miss  Ryerson  at 
the  Mill  Farm,  t'other  side  of  Stonebridge.  She  puts 
up  for  nearly  all  the  city  people  clear  through  to  Gordon, 
and  last  year  she  added  cherry  bounce  and  blackberry 
brandy.  Strange  enough,  too,  made  by  your  Great- 
grandmother  West's  rule,  —  I  suppose  you  know  she 
accommodated  wayfarers  with  meat  and  drink  down 
at  the  farm,  and  being  strictly  temperance  had  a  great 
name  for  her  ginger-mint  pop;  the  rule  is  in  my 
book  now.  The  old  sign  used  to  be  in  the  far  side 
of  your  attic,  behind  the  four-poster  —  it  was  a  fox 
chasin'  a  goose,  and  I  always  heard  it  came  from  the 
old  country;  that  reminds  me,  Enoch  says  that  old 
bed  is  set  up,  and  your  father's  sleepin'  on  it  again  — 
well,  old  times  lets  go  hard  sometimes. 

"Why,  last  year  Miss  Ryerson  cleared  two  thousand 
above  the  wages  of  her  woman  she  keeps  now  to  help 
her  out.  Of  course  there's  more  in  making  such  things 
than  meets  the  eye  of  those  that  hasn't  been  inside 
the  preservin'  kettle,  so  to  speak.    It's  the  keepin' 


224  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

sound  and  eatin'  well  that  counts,  and  that's  why, 
like  everything  else,  for  every  ten  that  tries  the  business, 
nine  drop  out  because  they  pinch  and  neglect,  and 
slop  somewhere,  and  don't  give  the  best  there  is.  In 
eatin'  there's  always  a  market  for  the  best.  But  jam 
and  jell  won't  do  for  you,  for  let  alone  not  havin'  expe- 
rience, you'd  have  to  put  out  everything  for  a  season  to 
catch  your  market,  same  as  they  cast  away  samples  of 
new  soap  and  bakin'  powder. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  almost  forgot  that  you  were  askin'  about 
that  man  for  the  ploughing !  Enoch  saw  a  big  strong 
Dane,  or  Swede,  or  some  of  those  north-country  people, 
down  at  the  smithy  last  night.  He's  come  here  lately, 
and  hired  the  little  Bisbee  cottage  on  the  river  road  — 
plans  to  fix  it  up,  and  plant  a  bit  of  garden,  'n  make  it 
ready  for  his  sweetheart  that's  coming  over  in  the  fall. 
They  say  he's  got  a  bit  of  money  saved  and  table  boards 
at  Bisbee's  sister's.  He  wants  to  work  on  shares  or 
by  the  day  this  season,  so's  to  have  time  for  his  own 
work  between.  He  brought  a  letter  to  Mr.  Denny, 
the  printer  down  at  the  Bee  oJ95ce,  and  he  says  he'll 
recommend  him  willing.  Somebody  like  that,  steady, 
and  who  would  go  ahead,  would  be  better  for  a  girl 
like  you  than  a  wild  Polack  that  you'd  have  to  manage, 
or  one  of  our  town  boys  that  would  Hkely  feel  called 
to  boss  you.  Father  says  the  fellow  doesn't  own  a 
horse  mower  yet,  but  we'll  lend  ours,  and  you've  got 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX  225 

a  plough  and  scythes,  as  I  suppose  Keith  showed  you. 
Father'!!  bargain  with  him  for  you,  and  p!an  out  the 
worli  —  he  thinlcs  it'!!  be  better  to  !et  the  man  see 
you've  a  farming  friend  that  Imows,  to  come  between 
you  and  what  you've  never  seen  done,  and  in  con- 
sequence hev  no  notion  of." 

Thanlcing  the  dear  o!d  !ady  both  with  words  and 
the  spontaneous  Idss  of  sudden  gratitude,  which  she 
prized  far  more,  Broolce  wa!k:ed  home  in  a  sort  of 
dream.  She  passed,  quite  unheeded,  the  blooming 
hepaticas  clustering  amid  the  dry  leaves  in  a  sunny 
spot  on  the  road  bank;,  though  she  had  been  looldng 
among  their  thicls^  ruddy  leaves  for  the  flowers  ever 
since  Stead  had  shown  her  where  they  were  bedded 
a  week  before.  A  song-sparrow,  perched  on  a  twig  of 
silvery  pussy-willow,  threw  back  his  head  as  she  passed, 
and  poured  forth  the  most  melodious  verse  of  his 
changeful  song.  She  scarcely  heard  it,  or  if  she  did,  paid 
no  heed,  any  more  than  she  did  to  the  fact  that  Tatters 
had  flushed  a  partridge  down  in  one  of  the  wood  roads 
that  start  from  the  highway  and  end  in  silence, 
leaving  her  for  its  ecstatic  but  fruitless  quest. 

Going  to  the  kitchen,  she  stood  before  the  mantel- 
shelf looking  at  the  fox,  as  if  at  an  oracle  that  must 
one  day  speak  to  her.  Then  something  cool  seemed 
to  touch  her  brain,  clearing  it  and  crystallizing  her 
thoughts,  as  it  had  that  night  when  the  plan  of  coming 
Q 


226  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

to  the  homestead  drove  away  the  oppression  of  despair 
itself. 

"Yes,"  she  said  aloud,  "to  win  money  it  must  be 
the  best  of  its  kind.  What  can  I  do  that  is  the  best  ?  — 
paint  animals  ?  by  and  by  perhaps  —  but  for  daily 
bread  this  spring  ?  Ah,  it  has  come !  I  can  make 
sandwiches,  all  kinds,  of  the  very  best  (how  the 
Hendersons  and  Bleeckers  gobbled  them  up),  to  go  with 
mother's  tea,  also  the  bread  for  them!  I  will  make 
the  summer  drink  of  ginger  ale,  ice,  a  lemon  sUce, 
and  three  sprigs  of  mint,  that  father  once  said  tasted 
so  much  better  than  the  ginger- root  afifair  they  bottle 
for  sale.  I  will  play  I  am  Great-granny  West,  swing 
out  my  sign,  and  'accommodate  wayfarers*  — that 
is,  the  pleasure  drivers  between  Stonebridge  and  Gordon 
—  with  food  and  drink,  as  Mrs.  Fenton  put  it !  She 
says  a  day  never  passes  from  May  to  November  but 
what  people  in  driving  stop,  and  beg  to  buy  even  bread 
and  milk.  Grandma  West's  sign  was  a  fox  and  a 
goose,  but  to-day  geese  are  out  of  the  running.  My  sign 
shall  be  only  the  Sign  of  the  Fox.  You  shall  hang 
out  over  the  gate  on  the  old  pine  in  an  iron  frame, 
and  talk  wisely  to  the  passers-by,"  she  said,  looking  up 
at  the  picture. 

Then,  taking  the  bread-board  down  from  the  shelf, 
she  kissed  the  fox  on  the  nose  in  the  fervour  of  hope 
that  was  dawning. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX  227 

"Instead  of  cakes  and  ale,  or  anything  like  that, 
you  shall  have  just  one  word  —  tea  —  painted  over 
you,  and  we  will  leave  them  to  guess  the  rest,"  and 
Brooke,  who  was  in  a  mood  to  declare  that  the  wise 
beast  winked,  and  licked  his  lips,  needs  must  laugh 
at  the  curious  yet  satisfactory  blending  of  her  dreams 
of  the  future,  love,  painting,  and  fame,  with  the  eternal 
everyday  theme,  bread  and  butter ! 

After  a  moment  the  revulsion  came.  What  would  her 
mother  say  ?  That  passed  away  in  the  thought  that  she 
could  not  object,  for  to  act  untrammelled  was  unques- 
tionably the  first  link  in  the  chain  by  which  Brooke  was 
to  endeavour  to  keep  the  family  bound  together.  Yet  it 
was  a  relief  when,  an  hour  later,  the  plan  had  been  thor- 
oughly discussed  and  formulated,  to  find  that  her 
mother  not  only  fully  approved,  but  was  already  on 
the  alert,  and  full  of  suggestions  to  make  the  simple 
service  as  dainty  as  might  be. 

Silent  Stead  was  the  first  to  throw  a  wet  blanket 
upon  the  scheme,  his  reasons  being  purely  personal, 
as  it  usually  developed  that  they  were;  though  he 
would  bitterly  have  resented  the  idea  of  it.  He  foimd 
it  diflScult  to  put  his  objections  into  reasonable  words, 
and  so  merely  retired  within  himself,  and  was  "grumpy," 
as  the  Cub  put  it. 

The  Cub  came  back  from  the  village  a  few  days 
later  with  the  rings  and  frame  for  the  sign,  which  the 


228  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

blacksmith  had  fashioned;  and  Brooke,  after  varnish- 
ing the  bread-board  well  to  keep  out  the  weather,  had 
fitted  it  in  place,  and  was  looking  at  the  result  when 
Stead  came  in.  In  his  arms  he  carried  several  pack- 
ages of  bulbs  and  garden  seeds  for  her,  which  he  dropped 
on  the  table.  He  had  a  lovely  hillside  garden  of  his 
own  below  the  lodge,  which  he  and  Jos^  tended,  and 
already  he  was  planning  a  more  elaborate  arrangement 
of  the  old-fashioned  kitchen  garden  at  the  farm  than 
Miss  Keith  had  attempted,  saying,  in  answer  to  Brooke's 
objection,  that  it  would  perhaps  be  more  than  they 
could  care  for:  — 

"Turn  about  is  fair  play;  you  give  me,  an  idler, 
a  daily  resting  spot  between  the  valley  and  the  hill; 
why  may  I  not  give  you  a  spot  to  rest  in  between  the 
day's  work?  For  God's  sake,  do  not  make  me  feel 
more  of  a  cumberer  of  the  ground  than  necessary!" 

As  for  the  gifts  of  seeds  and  roots,  to  Mrs.  Lawton, 
accustomed  as  she  had  been  to  the  perfect  south- 
em  courtesy  of  such  things,  that  bore  no  obligation 
between  neighbours  and  equals,  they  seemed  quite 
matters  of  course,  and  of  no  special  import. 

Mrs.  Fenton,  when  Brooke  told  her  of  the  new 
venture,  and  consulted  her  as  to  the  ways  of  the  great 
folk  of  the  neighbourhood,  and  their  seasons  for  coming 
and  going,  had  expressed  her  opinion  that  the  first 
of  May  was  time  enough  to  begin,  as  then  the  people 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX  229 

in  general  ran  over  from  Boston  and  New  York  for 
a  few  days  at  a  time  to  start  the  wheels  in  motion,  and 
take  a  breath  of  air.  This  left  Brooke  a  full  month 
for  her  preparations,  and  both  Robert  Stead  and 
the  mail  carrier  noticed  the  frequency  with  which 
letters  flew  between  herself  and  Lucy  Dean  during 
this  time. 

Brooke,  at  first  being  humble-minded  as  to  her  ability, 
and  therefore  as  to  the  prices  to  be  charged,  was  gradu- 
ally convinced  by  her  hard-headed  friend  that  if  her 
wares  were  the  equal  of  those  which  Tokay  furnished 
the  same  patrons  at  their  houses  in  town,  why  might 
she  not  charge  the  same  at  the  wayside  tea  garden 
of  the  Moosatuk,  where  such  things  had  hitherto  not 
only  been  unattainable  but  unknown  ? 

To  clinch  her  unanswerable  argument,  Lucy  had 
made  and  sent  to  her  friend  a  box  of  dainty  cards, 
such  as  are  often  used  at  bazaars  in  private  houses. 
A  fox's  head  appeared  at  the  top  —  next  below  TEA, 
lemon  or  cream  —  MILK  —  FOXHEAD  JULEP  (the 
name  with  which  they  had  christened  Granny  West's 
dehcious  ginger,  lemon,  and  mint  concoction).  Then 
followed  the  price-list  of  sandwiches  —  cheese  — 
potted  chicken  —  lettuce  —  jam,  and  plain  bread 
and  butter,  singly  or  by  the  dozen,  according  to  Tokay's 
schedule.  And  Brooke  accepted  Lucy's  advice,  but 
exacted  a  promise  that  she  should  tell  no  one,  nor  exploit 


230  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

the  plan  in  any  way,  sa)dng,  "I  want  the  venture  to 
make  its  way  from  the  inside  out,  not  from  the  outside 
in." 

Thus  the  matter  was  settled,  and  when  mother  and 
daughter  had  agreed  that  it  was  best  to  use  the  exquisite 
fem-leaf  china  cups  and  saucers  for  their  added  attrac- 
tion over  commoner  china,  and  there  seemed  nothing 
more  to  do  but  to  work  along  in  the  interim,  a  new 
diflSculty  suddenly  smote  Brooke.  Though  she  and 
her  mother  might  brew  and  bake,  who  was  to  serve 
the  tea  to  those  who,  lacking  footmen,  wished  it  brought 
to  carriage  or  served  in  the  porch,  which  Brooke  already 
called  her  Tea  Garden,  where  she  planned,  if  business 
warranted,  to  place  some  seats  and  small  tables? 

One  day,  the  very  last  of  March,  Deacon  Fenton 
stopped  at  the  West  farm,  and  in  answer  to  Mrs. 
Lawton's  urgent  invitation  to  come  in,  replied:  "Thank 
you  kindly,  but  not  to-day.  I'm  looking  for  that 
farmer  daughter  of  yours.  I've  fetched  up  the  new 
man,  and  given  him  an  idee  of  the  plantin'.  He  seems 
to  sense  it  all  right,  though  he's  kinder  soft  and  un- 
conditioned, and  slow  for  spring  ploughin',  and  his 
hands  blister  up  so's  I  told  him  he'd  better  wear  sheep- 
skin mits  fer  a  spell,  as  it's  some  time  he  claims  since 
he  worked  land  for  his  mother.  That  don't  count, 
however,  when  it's  work  on  shares.  You  get  your 
half  jest  the  same  if  he's  a  week  doin'  a  day's  work, 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX  231 

and  that's  the  sense  on  it  fer  a  girl  like  youm,  who 
can't  be  expected  to  drive  farm  hands  up  to  the  bit, 
as  must  be  did  if  you're  goin'  to  git  enough  ofifen  your 
land  to  feed  a  sparrer!  Where's  the  young  lady? 
A-paintin'  pussy  cats  —  no,  I  think  it  was  wild  rabbits 
likely,  in  the  bam,  Adam  said,  only  I  didn't  see  her 
when  I  tied  up.  I  thought  maybe  she'd  like  to  go 
down  to  the  ploughed  field,  and  be  made  acquainted 
with  her  new  help.  She  won't  need  to  bother  much 
with  him,  not  pa)dn'  out  wages,  but  it  may  come  in 
handy  for  her  to  have  speech  with  him,  jest  the  same. 

"Say,  Mis'  Lawton,  the  tea  and  spice  pedler  saw 
that  fox-head  sign,  settin'  in  there  in  the  kitchen,  and 
he  says  the  firm  he  travels  fer  are  just  introducing  a 
new  brand  of  condensed  goat's  milk,  and  if  she'd  paint 
out  a  nice,  white,  lively-lookin'goat  with  a  pretty,  dressed- 
up  baby  sittin'  on  its  back,  and  a  dreadful  thin  baby 
sittin'  on  the  road  a-crying  'cause  she  didn't  get  none,  he 
reckons  he  could  get  her  all  of  twenty-five  dollars  for 
it  —  maybe  more.  There's  a  fine  big  carriage  goat 
boardin'  at  Bisbee's  fer  the  winter  that  she  could  copy — 
'tain't  a  milking  one,  but  she  might  add  to  it  a  little. 
Thought  I'd  jest  mention  it ;  you  know  'tain't  often  she 
might  get  the  chance  to  turn  picture  paintin'  into  some- 
thing useful  and  instructive  and  payin'  all  to  onct." 

At  this  juncture  Brooke  appeared  to  speak  for  her- 
self, and,  after  she  had  cleaned  the  paint  from  her 


232  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

fingers  with  turpentine,  the  shrewd  old  farmer  and 
the  warm-hearted  young  enthusiast  walked  side  by 
side  down  the  cross-road,  skirting  the  hay-field,  now 
growing  green  around  the  moist  edges.  The  meadow- 
larks  were  soaring  and  singing,  the  first  white  butter- 
flies fluttered  in  the  sun,  and  down  from  the  garden 
wafted  an  odour  that  tells  of  spring  in  every  quarter 
of  the  globe,  the  perfume  of  the  little  white  Enghsh 
violets.  These  nestled  in  sociable  tufts  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  leafless  bushes  of  crimson  and  damask  roses 
in  the  garden  that  Great-granny  West  had  planted, 
—  violets  whose  ancestors  had  doubtless  come  over- 
seas in  company  with  the  Sign  of  the  Fox  and  the 
Goose. 

The  unploughed  corn-field  lay  to  the  right  of  the 
cross-road,  and  to  reach  it  they  were  obhged  to  skirt  a 
small  field  of  fall-sown  rye  that  was  bounded  by  the 
roadway.  As  they  picked  their  way  along  the  stubbly 
edge,  between  which  and  the  stone  fence  ran  one  of 
those  Httle  brooks  of  the  hill  countries  that  brawl 
and  rush  along  in  spring  and  autumn,  but  shrink 
away  and  keep  their  silence  in  summer  heat  and 
winter  cold  alike,  Brooke  paused  once  or  twice  to 
look  upon  her  River  Kingdom,  which,  after  the  rain 
and  freshet  of  a  week  past,  was  now  showing  the  first 
real  signs  of  Hfe.  Dun  and  gray  were  still  the  prevail- 
ing hues  of  the  river  woods,  except  where  a  ruddy 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX  233 

or  golden  glow  lying  on  the  tree-tops  told  of  swamp 
maples  or  willows.  The  hemlocks  on  the  rocky  banks 
looked  rusty  and  winter-w^om,  not  having  yet  donned 
their  curved-tipped  new  feathers.  The  marsh  meadows, 
thickly  studded  with  ponds  by  the  overflow,  alone 
showed  sohd  green,  and  gUttered  with  the  sunlit  emerald 
leaves  of  the  arums,  that  had  now  risen  above  and  con- 
cealed their  ill-smelling  mottled  red  blossoms. 

Here  and  there  on  the  hillsides  the  columns  of  pearl- 
gray  smoke,  wafted  straight  skyward,  showed  both  the 
location  of  cultivated  land  where  litter  and  brush  were 
burning,  and  also  that  the  wind  was  in  abeyance,  and 
the  sun  once  more  in  power.  The  sky  wore  a  misty 
veil  over  the  blue,  and  the  Moosatuk,  rushing,  foaming, 
and  overleaping  itself  in  its  spring-running  seaward, 
drew  more  from  the  ground  for  colours  than  of  the  sky 
reflections.  Now  and  again  an  uprooted  tree  would 
be  swept  by,  turning  and  stretching  its  bare  arms 
upward,  as  if  giving  signals  of  distress,  and  then  a  log 
would  plunge  along,  striking  against  the  submerged 
rocks,  rearing,  and  plunging  again  hke  a  gigantic  water 
snake. 

Yes,  in  deed  and  in  truth,  life  had  returned  to  the 
River  Kingdom  at  the  sound  of  the  voice  of  the  waters, 
and  yet  throughout  all  the  wide  expanse  the  only  human 
touch  was  in  the  field  below,  where  a  man,  who  cast 
a  Titan's  shadow  behind  him,  was  driving  a  plough 


234  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

into  the  deep,  cool  soil,  slowly  shattering  the  stubbly 
hillocks  of  last  year's  com.  Calmly  he  worked,  but 
with  finahty.  The  reins  that  guided  the  horses  hung 
loose  about  his  neck,  for  he  only  made  use  of  them  at 
the  turnings,  while  the  motive  pov/er  seemed  to  come 
less  from  the  horses  than  from  the  shoulders  of  the  man 
who  kept  the  ploughshare  true  in  its  course. 

Brooke  Lawton  stood  spellbound.  For  the  first 
time  she  saw  and  comprehended  the  most  primitive 
labour  of  primitive  man,  and  it  appealed  to  every  sense 
of  her  body,  —  the  mental,  spiritual,  physical,  —  ap- 
pealed to  her  as  had  the  freshly  baked  loaves,  by  its 
symbolism  as  well  as  directness,  for  beneath  the  leaven- 
ing development  of  generations,  side  by  side  with  the 
temperament  for  music  expressed  in  rhythm  and 
colour  defined  by  pigments,  walked  another  Brooke,  the 
primitive  woman. 

Ah !  if  she  could  but  fix  and  paint  the  scene  as  she 
felt  it!  Instantly  the  ploughman  stood  as  the  right- 
ful ruler  of  the  River  Kingdom,  and  dominated  it. 
It  was  not  the  personality  of  the  man,  for  she  had  not 
yet  seen  his  face,  merely  his  fitness  to  his  surroundings. 
Enoch  Fenton's  voice  broke  the  spell:  "A  slow 
worker,  as  I  told  your  ma  (I  put  in  my  mare  with  your 
horse,  it's  too  heavy  for  one),  but  that  don't  signify  in 
share  farmin' ;  you  won't  hev  to  watch  out  sharp  until 
the  harvestin',  and  then  I'll  help  you  out.    If  you  was 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX  235 

left  to  yourself,  you  might  fare  like  that  pretty  city 
Widder  Harris,  down  to  the  Forks;  she  let  old  Ed 
Terry  keep  her  cow  fer  half  the  milk.  Firstly  the  cow 
was  dry,  and  Mis'  didn't  get  any  of  course;  time  went 
along,  and  the  cow  calved,  and  after  a  week  Mis' 
Harris  went  across  lots  with  her  kettle  fer  her 
milk. 

"  *  There's  no  milk  due  you,'  said  old  Terry,  chuckling. 
'How's  that?'  says  she,  mad-like,  'I'm  to  get  half,  and 
I  saw  you  take  in  a  full  pail  this  morning.'  'That's 
all  true,'  says  he,  'half  comes  to  me,  and  your  half 
goes  to  the  calf !' 

"Not  that  I  expect  this  chap  is  that  kind;  he's 
sort  o'  mild  and  solemn,  that's  why  I  chose  you  a  for- 
eigner; the  native  is  often  overcrafty  to  work  with 
green  women  folks  that  ain't  had  the  picklin'  experience 
gives.  There's  fellers  round  here  would  sell  you  cold 
storage  eggs  for  settin'  as  quick  as  not.  I  know  'em, 
and  bein's  you're  a  friend  o'  Dr.  Russell,  wife  and  I 
feel  a  charge  to  look  after  you  a  spell.  Now  'fit  was 
Keith,  she's  different  —  no  cold  storage  eggs  for  her! 
Do  you  hear  when  the  weddin's  coming  off?  That's 
the  only  bargain  of  hers  I  mistrust.  The  sharpest 
women  on  general  trading  most  allers  slips  up  on 
matrimony.  I've  often  said  to  ma,  when  it  comes  to 
matrimony,  I  think  the  Lore!  .oves  and  favours  women 
best  that,  when  they  sets  their  mind  on  a  poor  sinful 


236  AT  THE   SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

man,  jest  closes  their  eyes,  and  topples  right  into  mar- 
riage without  bargaining. 

"  Old  Terry  was  a  corker !  'twas  he  that  was  mowin' 
fer  me  one  day,  and  I  says  at  the  nooning,  'Will  you 
take  rum  and  water,  or  cider?'  Savs  he,  'As  the  rum's 
handiest,  I'll  take  that  while  you're  drawin'  the  cider ! ' 

"Hi  there,  Henry!  Henry!  halt  at  the  turn!"  he 
called  to  the  ploughman  as  they  reached  the  field  edge. 
"It's  good  he  understands  EngHsh,  and  speaks  it  only 
a  little  back-handed.  What's  his  other  name?  Let's 
see  —  Petersen  ?  no  that  was  the  one  that  wanted  a 
steady  job.  Yes,  I  remember,  it's  Maarten,  —  they 
spell  it  with  double  a  where  he  comes  from. 

"This  is  Miss  Lawton  you're  agoin'  to  halve  the  crops 
with,  and  bein'  as  it  is  she  expects  you'll  measure  full 
and  fair,  and  something  over,  and  she  wants  you  to 
remember  that  I'm  standing  by  her,  and  my  eye  teeth 
is  cut!" 

"Why,  I  didn't  tell  you  to  say  that,  deacon.  I'm 
sure  Mr.  Maarten  will  be  fair,"  stammered  Brooke, 
feeling  personally  embarrassed  at  the  impHed  lack  of 
confidence,  and  oblivious  of  the  wink  that  her  agricul- 
tural preceptor  had  given  her,  for  he  had  simply  wished 
to  show  the  newcomer  that  she  had  a  protector; 
while  she  stood  there  colouring  with  distress,  her  hand 
half  raised,  not  knowing  whether  she  was  to  greet 
the  farmer,  as  she  had  made  a  point  of  doing  their 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX  237 

neighbours,  or  keep  the  reserve  that  belonged  to  the 
city  service  of  inferiors. 

As  for  the  man,  he  stood  quite  still,  one  hand  on 
the  plough,  the  other  hfting  his  wide  hat  by  the  crown 
in  greeting,  an  act  of  poUteness  no  country  yokel  would 
have  vouchsafed.  What  he  said  she  could  not  hear, 
but  the  single  glance  he  gave  her,  though  interrupted 
by  the  shadow  of  his  hat,  tinged  with  a  swift  respect 
instead  of  lingering  curiosity,  she  read  as  an  appeal 
for  fair  trial  and  mercy  for  his  awkwardness,  so  her 
outstretched  hand  dropped  to  the  stone  wall  that 
divided  them.  Leaning  on  it,  she  asked  some  trifling 
questions  that  could  be  answered  by  a  brief  yes  and 
no,  to  put  him  at  his  ease,  then  strolled  on  again  along 
the  field  edges,  only  half  Ustening  to  what  Enoch  Fenton 
said  of  the  best  rotation  of  crops  for  soil  somewhat 
overfarmed,  and  half  busy  with  her  own  thoughts, 
quickened  in  a  dozen  different  ways  by  the  impulse 
of  spring. 

"New  man  don't  seem  sociably  inclined  to  women 
folks,"  said  the  deacon,  with  a  chuckle;  "funny  he 
should  be  took  that  way  too!  Most  as  dumb  and 
oflSsh  as  Silent  Stead  up  there  on  Windy  Hill,  though 
Stead's  thawed  out  considerable  toward  'em,  ain't  he, 
since  you  folks  come  here?"  he  added,  in  a  persuasive 
tone  intended  to  open  further  possibilities  of  conversa- 
tion. 


238  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"Oh,  that  is  not  because  we  are  women  folks," 
answered  Brooke,  simply,  smiling  at  the  old  man's 
eagerness;  "it  is  also  because  of  Dr.  Russell,  who 
introduced  us.  We  are  strangers,  and  lonely  like  him- 
self, and  you  know  he  is  teaching  my  brother,  so  that 
he  may  not  wholly  lose  sight  of  college,  and  of  course 
we  are  very  grateful  for  that." 

"Want  ter  know!"  was  the  enigmatical  reply,  the 
non-committal  answer  of  the  countryman,  given  as 
it  always  is  with  the  falling  inflection,  though  the 
words  imply  a  question. 

As  they  turned  again  toward  the  cross-road,  the 
head  of  a  man  and  horse  could  be  seen  above  the 
leafless  wild  hedge  that  covered  the  fence.  It  was 
Robert  Stead,  and  as  he  caught  sight  of  Brooke,  he 
pulled  some  letters  from  his  saddle-bag  and  waved 
them  toward  her. 

"As  you're  likely  to  have  company  home,  I  reckon 
I'll  cut  across  lots,"  said  Enoch  Fenton,  dryly,  notic- 
ing her  eagerness,  for  letters  always  opened  a  realm 
of  possibility,  while  the  deacon's  query  about  Keith 
West's  marriage  reminded  Brooke  that  she  had  not 
heard  from  the  prospective  bride  for  nearly  a  month, 
and  so  she  had  unconsciously  hurried  her  steps. 

When  she  reached  the  bars  (four  rough  chestnut 
poles  held  by  old  horseshoes  driven  into  the  posts 
like  staples,  —  the  relic  of  an  old  country  tradition 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX  239 

to  keep  the  distemper  from  the  cattle  pastured  therein), 
Stead  had  already  dismounted,  and  stood  waiting 
for  her,  and  saying,  "Letters  first,"  handed  her  the 
package  —  six  in  all :  two  for  her  mother,  one  being  in 
the  writing  of  Mr.  Dean,  and  one  of  the  lawyer; 
one  from  Lucy;  two  in  strange  hands,  and  the  last 
addressed  in  the  square,  upright  characters  that  she 
had  seen  once  before,  this  also  readdressed  by  Charlie 
Ashton. 

With  a  swift  movement  she  dropped  them  into  the 
pocket  of  her  brown  linen  pinafore,  and,  turning 
backward  toward  the  Moosatuk,  let  the  beauty  of  the 
vista  —  which  at  that  point  was  framed  by  the  mottled 
trunks  of  two  gigantic  plane  trees  that  linked  their 
gnarled  branches  across  the  roadway  —  take  the 
place  of  speech  for  a  few  moments. 

"Then  you  too  love  the  river,  and  turn  to  it  as  I  do," 
Stead  said,  watching  her  face,  and  attributing  its  change- 
ful expression,  now  wrapt,  now  alert,  to  its  influence. 

"Yes,  surely,"  she  answered,  looking  far  off  and 
beyond,  "  and  I  think  I  must  have  known  it  somewhere 
in  dreams,  perhaps  before  ever  I  saw  it.  Ycu  do  not 
know  that  when  I  was  only  a  child  I  christened  all 
over  there,  as  far  as  eye  can  see,  my  River  Kingdom, 
and  said  that  some  day  I  would  be  fairy  queen  of  it !" 

"Yes,  I  know;  Dr.  Russell  once  told  me  of  your 
g3rps3dng,  —  and   now?"     Stead   dropped   Manfred's 


240  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

bridle  that  he  had  been  holding,  and  drew  a  step  nearer 
to  the  young  woman,  while  the  horse,  feeling  his  Hberty, 
began  to  crop  the  tender  tufts  of  grass  that  were  grow- 
ing between  the  wheel  tracks.  "Is  it  not  still  your 
kingdom?" 

"Yes  and  no.  The  kingdom  is  still  there,  but  fairy 
days  have  flown  away  with  their  kings  and  queens, 
and  all  of  that;  it  is  only  a  comer  of  the  same  big 
round  workaday  world,  though  an  enchanted  one, 
and  I  am  only  just  one  woman  in  it,  not  even  a  gypsy 
queen.  The  river  alone  has  not  changed:  when  I 
am  quiet,  it  soothes  me;  when  I  am  restless  and  dis- 
satisfied, it  moves  for  me  and  cools  the  fever.  This 
winter,  when  it  was  frozen  and  buried,  I  too  felt  turned 
to  stone  at  times,  or  as  if  I  stood  by  watching  the  face 
of  some  one  I  loved  who  was  dead.  If  the  ice  had 
lasted  another  month,  I  do  not  think  I  could  have 
borne  it,"  and  Brooke,  as  she  gazed,  clasped  her  hands 
before  her  with  a  gesture  half  supplication,  half  resolu- 
tion, that  had  always  been  pecuHarly  her  own. 

Then  Stead  saw  that  the  hands,  with  the  firm,  but 
slender  fingers  that  tell  of  the  artistic  temperament, 
were  no  longer  white  and  rose-tipped,  but  roughened 
and  seamed  like  the  ground  itself  with  the  stress  of 
the  winter,  —  the  patient  hands  of  the  woman  who 
works,  not  of  the  queen  who  toys. 

Suddenly  the  frost  wherein  his  heart  had  been  encased, 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX  241 

numbing  him  all  these  eleven  years,  melted  in  the  sun- 
shine of  her  simple,  wholesome  womanhness,  and 
broke  away  with  a  swift  wrench,  hke  the  ice  of  the 
river  in  the  force  of  the  freshet.  The  red  blood 
pulsed  anew  and  sang  in  his  ears  the  eternal  spring 
song  that  was  all  forgotten,  or  worse  yet,  disbelieved; 
for  a  single  moment  it  swirled  him  about,  and  hurried 
him  along,  struggHng  uselessly,  backward  toward 
youth,  —  a  perilous  journey. 

Manfred,  who  had  cropped  all  the  grass  within  easy 
reach,  now  nibbled  sharply  at  his  master's  pocket  for 
sugar;  with  an  impatient  gesture  Stead  turned  — and  the 
moment  passed ;  while  Brooke,  once  more  sweeping  the 
landscape  with  her  gaze,  slowly  stretched  out  her  arms 
toward  it  unconsciously,  and  began  to  cUmb  the  hill 
again.  The  last  detail  of  it  all  that  lingered  in  her 
memory  was  the  ploughman  following  in  the  furrow 
that  his  strength  made  true,  and  as  the  two  walked 
slowly  homeward,  the  ploughman  in  his  turn  stopped, 
and,  lifting  his  hat  to  cool  his  head,  stood  watching  them. 

Robert  Stead  stopped  at  the  bam  to  show  the  Cub, 
now  in  the  first  enthusiasm  of  the  coming  trout  season, 
how  to  repair  an  old  rod  of  his  father's  that  had  grown 
brittle  from  disuse,  and  Brooke  carried  the  letters  to 
her  mother,  reading  that  from  Lucy;  but  she  took 
the  one  marked  Overveen  to  her  own  room  presently, 
where,  sitting  by  the  window,  she  opened  it  slowly. 


242  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

It  held  a  single  sheet  that  bore  these  words  — 
random  verses  from  the  "Lost  Tales  of  Miletus,"  care- 
fully copied  —  no  less,  no  more ! 

But  haunted  by  the  strain,  till  then  unknown. 
Seeks  to  re-sing  it  back  herself  to  charm. 
Seeks  still  and  ever  fails, 

Missing  the  key-note  which  unlocks  the  music  ^ 

"  They  gave  me  work  for  torture ;  work  is  joy! 
Slaves  work  in  chains,  and  to  the  clank  they  singf 
Said  Orpheus,  *  Slaves  still  hope.' 

"And  could  I  strain  to  heave  up  the  huge  stone 
Did  I  not  hope  that  it  would  reach  the  height  ? 
There  penance  ends,  and  dawn  Elysian  fields. 
But  if  it  never  reach  ?  " 

The  Thracian  sighed,  as  looming  through  the  mist 
The  stone  came  whirling  back.    "  Fool,"  said  the  ghos^ 
"  Then  mine  at  worst  is  everlasting  hope!  " 
Again  up  rose  the  stone. 

Holding  the  paper  clasped  against  her  breast,  again 
Brooke's  thoughts  sought  counsel  of  the  river,  but 
now  between  her  and  it,  a  silhouette  standing  against 
the  water,  on  the  slope  below  the  ploughman  guided 
the  horses  to  and  fro  unceasingly  across  the  corn-field. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS 

Apsn.  flew  by  on  the  wings  of  the  migrating  birds, 
and  it  was  abnost  the  last  week,  that  brought  the  fragile 
wind  flower  to  the  wood  edges  and  the  swallows  to  the 
old  bam,  before  Brooke  realized  that  the  month  had 
fairly  begun.  For  not  more  relentless  is  the  rush  of  the 
dty  itself  than  life  on  a  farm  in  the  springtime,  when 
the  power  that  drives  is  the  vital  force  of  Nature  her- 
self, while  a  day  dropped  at  this  time  slips  back  beyond 
recall. 

One  morning,  in  herding  a  refractory  hen,  who  had 
strayed  with  her  brood  out  among  the  young  oats, 
Brooke  had  found  herself  dose  by  the  spot  where  Henry 
Maarten  was  planting  potatoes,  and,  half  laughing  and 
wholly  out  of  breath,  she  called  to  him  for  help,  which 
call  he  answered  by  catching  the  clucking,  scratching 
hen,  while  she  gathered  the  brood  in  her  apron,  and  he 
followed  her  silently  back  to  the  chicken  yard  at  a 
respectful  distance. 

Having  put  the  chicks  safely  in  a  coop,  Brooke  pointed 
out  a  shorter  way  across  the  flower  garden  by  which 

243 


244  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

Maarten  might  return  to  his  work.  Seeing  that  he 
paused  by  the  straggling  clumps  of  early  tulips  and 
dafifodils  that  were  already  in  bloom,  and  thinking  they 
might  be  reminding  him  of  some  other  garden  for  which 
he  was  homesick,  she  bade  him  gather  as  many  as  he 
wished,  asked  him  if  he  was  fond  of  flowers,  and  whether 
he  would  not  hke  some  roots,  seeds,  or  cuttings  for  his 
little  place,  saying  in  a  friendly  way,  to  put  him  at  his 
ease,  for  he  always  seemed  to  dread  her  presence, 
"They  tell  me  you  are  painting  and  repairing  to  make 
a  home  at  the  Bisbee  place  for  some  one  who  is  coming 
over  in  the  autumn.  Nothing  is  so  homeUke  to  a 
woman  as  growing  flowers." 

PuUing  his  hat  over  his  eyes  with  a  gesture  of  embar 
rassment  rather  than  because  the  sun  was  bright,  he 
said,  in  carefully  pronounced  musical  English,  with  a 
decided  foreign  accent:  "And  they  told  you  that  I 
make  a  home  for  a  sweetheart  who  comes?  Yes,  I 
had  thought  to;  but  if  she  comes  not,  what  then?" 

"But  why  should  she  not  come?  Surely  she  will  if 
she  has  promised,  and  knows  that  you  work  for  her," 
said  Brooke,  insensibly  adopting  his  pronunciation  and 
speaking  with  ready  confidence  in  the  faith  of  woman 
born  of  her  own  temperament. 

"She  has  not  promised  it,"  he  faltered,  looking  down 
at  the  tulips  and  again  pulhng  his  hat  betwixt  himself 
and  his  young  questioner,  as  if  he  feared  that  if  she  saw 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS    245 

his  eyes  she  might  penetrate  too  far  into  his  innermost 
feeUngs. 

"She  knows  you  are  working  for  her?" 

"No,  not  even  that." 

"At  least  she  beUeves  that  you  care?"  persisted 
Brooke,  too  direct  and  sympathetic  to  reahze  at  once 
that  she  might  be  probing  a  wound. 

"  I  once  dared  to  think  so,  but  since  I  have  come  away, 
the  word  has  travelled  that  perhaps  her  Hking  may  be 
for  another." 

"Why,  doesn't  she  know  her  own  mind?"  said 
Brooke,  half  to  herself,  all  at  once  becoming  the  self- 
appointed  champion  of  her  farmer-on-shares,  and  not 
realizing  until  after  the  words  had  left  her  Hps  that  she 
was  herself  too  young  a  woman  to  be  a  safe  adviser  to 
so  young  a  man,  and  she  blushed  hotly. 

Turning  to  the  flowers  to  aid  her  in  an  unforeseen 
situation  by  which  she  found  herself  much  moved,  she 
spied  the  great  clump  of  white  bridal  roses,  now  putting 
out  green  shoots,  that  had  spread  from  a  single  bush 
almost  to  a  hedge,  and  which  Miss  Keith  had  pointed 
out  in  its  winter  leafless  state  as  a  much-cherished 
family  possession.  "Cut  a  root  from  this  with  your 
knife,  carefully,  for  its  thorns  are  long  and  sharp,  and 
plant  it  by  your  porch,  for  the  saying  is  that  it  brings 
luck  to  new  homes,"  she  said  quickly.  As  she  watched 
him  she  thought  of  the  verses  in  her  letter,  and   all 


246  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

unconsciously  repeated  them  half  aloud,  "'Then  mine 
at  worst  is  everlasting  hope — '"  but  a  sharp  exclama- 
tion from  the  man,  who  with  back  toward  her  was 
tugging  at  the  rose  root,  stopped  her;  his  hand  had 
slipped,  and  the  sharp  thorn  pierced  his  thimib  to  the 
bone. 

It  was  the  pieman's  day,  and  promptly  at  noon  his 
cart  turned  into  the  barnyard.  Mrs.  Lawton,  as  well 
as  Brooke,  had  come  to  look  forward  to  the  break 
made  by  his  visits,  for  embodied  cheerfulness  must- 
always  be  a  welcome  guest.  This  time,  however,  he 
was  bustling  with  importance,  and  laid  a  pink  envelope, 
with  an  embossed  violet  in  the  place  of  a  seal,  upon 
Brooke's  lap  as  she  sat  on  the  porch  step  waiting  for 
him  to  settle  and  unfold  his  budget. 

The  envelope  contained  a  painfully  written  letter 
from  his  wife's  sister,  Sairy  Ann,  inviting  Brooke  to 
take  the  long-promised  drive  on  the  "Friday  route," 
and  pass  the  night  at  her  farm,  "to  see  the  early  birds 
in  the  morning."  The  sincerity  of  the  invitation  was 
so  evident  and  the  promised  experience  so  tempting, 
that,  after  thinking  it  over  a  moment,  Brooke  went 
indoors  to  write  an  answer  of  acceptance,  realizing  that 
after  the  Sign  of  the  Fox  should  be  hung  in  its  place 
there  could  be  no  holidays. 

"Going,  bean't  you?"  smiled  the  pieman,  when  she 
returned. 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS    247 

"Yes,"  she  nodded  gayly,  "that  is,  if  I  can  persuade 
Mrs.  Peck  to  keep  mother  company.  You  see  I  have 
hunted  far  and  wide  for  a  young  girl  to  help  in  our  new 
venture,"  of  which,  by  the  way,  the  pieman  most 
heartily  approved,  and  had  been  heralding  it  like  the 
most  persistent  advance  agent  along  the  entire  course 
of  both  his  town  and  country  routes. 

"Never  mind,  suthin'  may  turn  up  yet,"  he  advised 
soothingly;  "you've  got  a  week  to  spare  and  the  Lord 
can  raise  up  a  heap  o'  good  as  well  as  trouble  in  that 
time,  and  sometimes  waitin'  fer  Providence  after  you've 
done  your  best  is  advisable,  and  not  to  be  jedged  like 
settin'  and  waitin'  before  you've  done  aught,  and  lean- 
ing, which  is  not  faith,  but  the  devil's  yeast  of  laziness.'* 

In  the  early  afternoon,  after  the  pieman  had  gone 
on  his  way,  Brooke  wheeled  her  father  into  the  garden, 
while  she  planted  the  seeds  of  mignonette,  bluets,  sweet- 
sultan,  and  China  pinks,  and  the  second  planting  of 
sweet  peas  of  Miss  Keith's  saving,  in  the  long  rows  that 
she  had  advised,  for  now  there  would  be  a  double  reason 
for  having  jugs  of  fragrant  flowers  on  the  table  of  the 
honeysuckle-screened  south  porch,  which  Brooke  had 
christened  the  Tea  House. 

Tatters  was  worried.  Indoors  he  stayed  by  his  master, 
outdoors  he  followed  his  mistress  —  under  the  present 
circumstances,  what  was  his  duty?  First  he  licked 
Adam  Lawton's  hand  persistently,  and  then  followed 


248  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Brooke  along  the  line  she  had  carefully  marked  with 
stick  and  string,  according  to  Stead's  gardening  in- 
structions, until  he  was  made  to  understand  that  his 
footprints  in  the  newly  turned  earth  were  not  things 
to  be  desired;  then  he  returned  to  the  chair. 

There  could  be  no  question  that  physically  Adam 
Lawton  was  in  every  way  improving.  The  use  of  his 
hand  was  gradually  returning,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  cane 
he  could  move  slowly  from  the  bed  to  his  chair;  he 
could  also  play  a  game  of  checkers,  and  though  he 
spoke  slowly  the  words  were  finished,  not  broken  as  at 
first.  Still  his  thoughts  were  of  the  past  and  lacked 
connection. 

A  sudden  shower  of  potent  April  rain  fell  with  sharp 
sound  on  Brooke's  seed  packages.  Gathering  them 
together  hastily,  she  pushed  the  chair  up  the  sloping 
platform  through  the  kitchen  door  that  had  been  wi- 
dened, and  as  she  did  so  the  fishing  pole  that  the  Cub 
had  mended  fell  clattering  to  the  floor.  Stooping  to 
pick  it  up  she  noticed  that  it  caught  her  father's  eye, 
and  as  she  held  it  toward  him,  he  grasped  it  eagerly, 
saying  softly  to  himself,  "My  new  pole;  to-morrow 
I'll  go  fishing,  if  Enoch  Fenton  will  play  hookey  too." 

The  rain  increased  and  by  five  o'clock  had  promised 
to  settle  into  a  steady  pour  that  drew  a  curtain  across 
the  river,  cut  ruts  in  the  roadway,  and  gullied  the  soft 
fields,  —  a  class  of  storm  dreaded  in  spring  in  a  hillside 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS    249 

country,  and  entirely  the  reverse  of  the  traditional 
growing  rain. 

The  Cub  came  in  and  hung  his  coat  to  drip  in  the 
porch,  and  even  the  water  that  ran  from  Pam's  grotesque 
and  stubby  tail  made  a  puddle  on  the  floor. 

"I  turned  the  cows  out  and  shut  the  gate,  because 
Mr.  Fenton  said  I  ought  to  from  now  on,"  said  the 
Cub,  looking  at  the  rain,  and  then  gauging  the  wind,  as 
it  tore  downhill,  like  a  veritable  native.  "I  guess  I'll 
go  back  and  let  'em  in  again,  just  this  once.  No,  I 
don't  want  an  umbrella,  it'll  only  go  bust,"  he  added, 
as  he  stepped  out  the  door,  closing  it  with  much  diffi- 
culty against  the  rising  tide  of  wind  and  rain. 

Brooke,  who  had  proffered  the  umbrella,  stood 
watching  him  through  the  glass  half-door,  and  then  a 
dark  object  coming  up  the  cross-road  drew  her  atten- 
tion. At  first  she  could  not  make  out  whether  it  was 
man  or  woman ;  then,  while  she  was  still  in  doubt,  the 
screening  umbrella  broke  loose  from  its  fastenings  and, 
turning  completely  inside  out,  showed  that  its  carrier 
was  a  woman. 

"Mother,  please  come  here  and  see  if  you  can  tell 
me  who  this  is  struggling  up  the  road.  Can  it  be  Mrs. 
Peck?  She  is  the  only  human  being  hereabouts  who 
does  not  keep  a  horse !"  But  the  figure  proved  to  be 
too  taU  and  straight  to  belong  to  the  widow,  who  not 
only  had  settled  and  gone  to  flesh,  but  was  somewhat 
listed  as  well. 


250  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"When  she  reaches  the  house,  whoever  she  may  be, 
I  would  ask  her  in.  It  may  be  some  one  who  has  come 
up  by  the  trolley  on  the  lower  road  expecting  to  be 
met;  better  go  and  open  the  front  door/'  said  Mrs. 
Lawton,  hastening  to  light  the  lamps,  which  were  her 
special  care. 

Brooke  started  to  act  upon  the  suggestion,  but  as  she 
gave  a  final  look  she  saw  that  the  woman  had  already 
turned  into  the  bam  lane,  and,  though  evidently  almost 
spent,  was  coming  across  to  the  kitchen  door  with  a 
directness  that  betokened  familiarity.  So  Brooke  re- 
turned to  the  side  door  and,  opening  it  a  crack,  held 
it  against  the  racking  wind.  As  the  gust  swept  through 
the  house,  Tatters,  who  had  been  lying  in  the  hallway, 
arose,  gave  a  growl,  then  a  sniff,  and,  with  his  tail 
beginning  to  swing  in  a  circle,  nosed  open  the  door, 
in  spite  of  his  mistress's  effort  to  stop  him,  and  threw 
himself  violently  against  the  dripping  figure  coming  up 
the  cobbled  path,  who  seemed  to  grapple  with  him. 

"Back,  Tatters!  come  back!"  called  Brooke,- let- 
ting go  her  hold  of  the  door,  which  swung  back  with  a 
clatter,  as  she  clapped  her  hands  to  attract  the  dog's 
attention. 

"Down,  bad  dog!  Why, he  will  tear  the  woman  to 
pieces.  Quick!  blow  the  horn  for  Adam;  I  never 
dreamed  he  could  act  so ! "   cried  Mrs.  Lawton. 

Brooke  raised  her  hand  to  take  the  ram's  horn  from 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS    251 

its  hook,  still  calling  and  whistling  to  the  dog,  whose 
actions  seemed  to  be  wholly  unaccountable.  As  she 
looked,  her  hand  dropped;  the  woman  was  hugging 
Tatters,  not  buffeting  him,  while  at  the  same  instant  the 
wind  gave  her  hat  a  final  twist,  breaking  it  from  its 
moorings  and  carrying  with  it  the  short  veil  whose 
modish  black  dots  clung  soddenly,  Uke  concentrated 
tears,  and  the  woman's  face  was  revealed. 

"It  is  Cousin  Keith!"  gasped  Brooke,  dashing  into 
the  rain  to  lend  a  helping  hand,  for  the  water-soaked 
skirts  had  finally  wound  themselves  into  a  bandage 
around  the  poor  woman's  legs  and  effectually  prevented 
her  from  lifting  her  feet  to  the  steps,  upon  which  she 
sank,  chancing  into  the  biggest  puddle  she  possibly 
could  have  chosen. 

Mrs.  Lawton  came  to  the  door  with  hands  extended, 
and  a  totally  bewildered  expression  on  her  face,  while 
the  same  ideas  were  crowding  the  brain  of  both  mother 
and  daughter.  Had  Ke^th  West  gone  out  of  her  mind, 
or  had  a  letter  telling  of  her  coming  miscarried,  and 
was  her  plight  wholly  the  result  of  not  having  been 
met  and  having  miscalculated  the  strength  of  the  storm  ? 
Probably  by  this  time  she  was  no  longer  Keith  West, 
but  Mrs.  James  White.  If  so,  where  was  the  First 
Cause?  Had  there  been  a  railway  accident,  or  had 
she  been  "abandoned  at  the  altar,"  as  the  newspapers 
put  such  matters? 


252  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"No,  not  into  the  kitchen,"  expostulated  Miss  Keith, 
as  Brooke  would  have  led  in;  "let  me  stand  here 
and  drip  a  bit  —  that  is,  unless  you  can  set  down  the 
little  starch  tub  for  me  to  stand  in,"  she  added,  as  a 
shiver  went  up  her  spine,  making  her  teeth  chatter. 

"Nonsense,  water  cannot  hurt  oil-cloth,  and  you 
must  go  close  to  the  fire  while  I  take  off  these  sopping 
things  at  once,"  said  Brooke,  decidedly,  pushing  Miss 
Keith  resolutely  over  the  threshold  and  closing  the 
door,  thinking,  as  she  afterward  said,  that  if  she  had  a 
lunatic  upon  her  hands,  she  must  neither  hesitate  nor 
argue. 

Meanwhile  the  Cub  had  returned  from  the  bam  and, 
throwing  open  the  door,  came  upon  the  apparition  of 
his  tall  and  somewhat  angular  kinswoman,  who  three 
months  before  had  gone  away  in  such  brave  array, 
being  rapidly  divested  of  her  outer  garments  by  his 
mother  and  sister.  Her  sandy  hair,  usually  trigly  coiled 
about  her  crown,  had  fallen  down  and  stuck  to  her  face 
in  gluey  strings,  suggesting,  to  his  boyish  fancy,  seaweed 
cUnging  to  the  figurehead  of  some  shipwrecked  vessel 
that  at  last  view  had  swept  proudly  from  port,  aU  sails 
set. 

Giving  vent  to  a  long-drawn  "wh-e-w,"  the  Cub  be- 
gan to  laugh;  it  wasn't  nice  of  him,  but  the  scene  was 
irresistibly  funny.  Not  a  word  was  spoken.  Miss 
Keith  as  yet  offering  no  explanation  whatever;  and  while 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS         253 

she  managed  to  keep  her  usual  poise,  erect  as  a  ramrod, 
she  only  moved  her  legs  and  arms  to  release  or  put  on 
garments  as  Brooke  guided,  like  a  marionette.  His 
laugh  died  away  unheeded,  and  it  was  not  until  he  whis- 
pered "What's  up?"  in  a  somewhat  awe-struck  tone 
in  Brooke's  ear  that  either  of  the  women  noticed  him; 
and  then  Miss  Keith  gave  a  shriek,  and  snatching  one 
of  the  stockings  that  Brooke  had  but  just  succeeded 
in  peeling  off,  wrapped  it  around  her  neck,  while 
Brooke  said  over  her  shoulder,  "We  don't  exactly 
know,  but  won't  you  plectse  go  and  stay  with  father 
and  coax  Tatters  with  you,"  for  the  dog  was  not  a 
respecter  of  clothes,  and  his  joy  at  seeing  his  old  friend 
was  more  emphatic  than  convenient. 

Seated  in  an  arm-chair  before  the  stove,  enveloped 
in  the  Cub's  striped  blanket  wrapper,  her  hair  pushed 
out  of  her  eyes,  and  her  slippered  feet  resting  on  the 
oven  ledgej  Miss  Keith  looked  about  the  kitchen  and 
then  at  Mrs.  Lawton,  who  had  quietly  taken  a  seat 
beside  her  as  if  expectant  of  some  new  sort  of  outbreak, 
while  Brooke  went  for  a  stimulant,  and  mixing  some 
whiskey  and  water,  held  it  to  the  thin,  teetotal  lips,  that 
at  first  sipped  dubiously  and  then  quaffed  eagerly, 
as  she  felt  vitality  returning  in  the  wake  of  the 
draught. 

"Are  you  not  better,  and  will  you  not  tell  us  what 
has  happened?"  asked  Mrs.  Lawton,  in  the  precise. 


254         AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

deliberate  staccato  speech  by  which  the  cahnest  people 
often  show  that  they  are  nervous. 

"Did  you  write  us  that  you  were  coming?  And 
why,  pray,  did  you  not  take  Bisbee's  hack  from  the 
station,  instead  of  risking  such  a  walk  in  a  storm  Uke 
this?" 

"Because  I  am  a  fool!"  jerked  Miss  Keith;  "I 
wanted  to  get  here  without  being  seen;  I  hoped  you 
would  let  me  hide  for  a  few  days  until  I  could  think 
out  where  to  go  and  what  to  do !  I  came  on  the  train 
as  far  as  Stonebridge,  and  when  I  boarded  the  trolley 
it  promised  to  clear  off.  If  I'd  taken  Bisbee's  hack,  the 
talk  of  me  would  have  been  all  over  town  and  into  prayer- 
meetin'  to-night.     This  is  Wednesday,  isn't  it?" 

"No,  Tuesday,"  replied  Brooke,  soothingly,  exchang- 
ing an  anxious  glance  with  her  mother,  which  as  much 
as  said,  "Yes,  the  poor  soul  is  deranged,"  while  at  the 
same  time  she  was  revolving  in  her  mind  how  she 
could  manage,  without  attracting  attention,  to  send 
Adam  for  Dr.  Love,  a  young  physician  of  Dr.  Russell's 
recommending,  who  had  lately  estabhshed  himself  in 
Gilead,  hitherto  the  people  of  the  River  Kingdom  hav- 
ing been  obUged  to  send  either  to  Stonebridge  or  Gor- 
don. Swift  as  the  glance  was.  Miss  Keith,  who  was 
rapidly  recovering  herself,  caught  it  in  passing  and, 
moreover,  read  its  full  meaning. 

**I'm  not  crazy,  nor  coming  down  with  typhoid,  nor 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS  255 

flying  from  justice!"  she  announced  in  a  tone  of  sup- 
pressed excitement  that  was  far  from  reassuring.  "In 
that  I  have  proved  scripture  (not  that  it  needed  proving), 
my  visit  of  the  last  three  months  has  been  a  success. 
Pride  goeth  before  destruction  and  a  haughty  spirit 
before  a  fall.    My  pride  is  gone  and  I  have  fallen — " 

"Oh,  Keith!"   said  Mrs.  Lawton,  faintly. 

"In  spirit,  from  my  high  aspirations,"  she  continued, 
not  heeding  the  interruption  nor  the  sudden  painful 
colour  that  suffused  Mrs.  Lawton's  face.  "Also  a  fool 
and  his  money  are  soon  parted,  likewise  my  money  and 
me.  So  I  am,  as  I  said  before,  a  fool,  but  one  who 
would  like  a  few  days  to  review  her  folly  before  the 
minister  and  the  neighbours  feel  called  upon  to  wrestle 
with  her  about  it." 

Light  was  beginning  to  dawn  upon  Mrs.  Lawton 
and  Brooke,  though  as  yet  the  clouds  were  by  no  means 
Hfted. 

"Would  you  not  rather  rest  until  after  supper  or 
have  a  night's  sleep  before  you  pain  yourself  by  telling 
us?  We  do  not  wish  to  force  any  confidence,  only 
naturally  we  feared  that  you  were  ill.  Your  room,  by 
chance,  wis  aired  to-day,  and  the  bed-making  is  only 
a  minute's  work,"  said  Mrs.  Lawton,  rising  and  laying 
her  hand  soothingly  upon  Keith's  shoulder,  as  a  hint 
that  she  might  perhaps  like  to  retire,  which  would  have 
been  an  unspeakable  rehef.     Not  she!    Keith  West's 


256  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

nature,  blended  curiously  as  it  was  of  Scotch  and  New 
England  granite,  was  softest  and  most  retiring  in  tri- 
umphant, happy  moods,  but  in  adversity,  unsparing  and 
unflinching. 

"What  I  have  to  tell  won't  improve  by  keeping," 
she  said  by  way  of  answer.  "  To  begin  with,  I  ought  to 
have  known  better,  after  all  my  farming  experience, 
than  to  buy  a  pig  in  a  poke,  a  cow  over  seven,  or  a 
horse  without  knowing  its  age,  and  expect  a  bargain." 

"You  seemed  to  be  having  a  delightful  time  in  Boston 
when  you  last  wrote,"  ventured  Brooke,  quietly,  in  an 
endeavour  to  hasten  and  focus  the  explanation,  which, 
being  epigrammatically  expressed,  acquired  vagueness 
thereby. 

"Yes,  I  did  at  first,  until  I  found  out  that  my  friend 
Mrs.  Dow  was  charging  her  car  fare  up  to  me  when 
she  took  me  about,  and  that  her  company,  with  which 
the  house  was  so  full  that  I  had  to  take  a  third  story 
back,  were  boarders,  and  I  was  charged  double  rates 
because  I'd  only  come  for  what  she  called  the  'cream 
of  the  season.'  I  didn't  find  all  this  out  until  the  first 
month's  payday,  and  then  I  overlooked  it  because  I 
know  learned  men  never  get  big  salaries  and  I  felt  for 
Judith's  pride.  The  next  shock  was  that  Mr.  Dow, 
who  I  supposed  was  at  the  very  least  a  professor  or 
something  in  the  museum  and,  as  they  say,  'counted 
an  honourable  position  above  high  pay,'  was  only  the 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS    257 

janitor!  One  day  when  I  was  out  alone  I  called  on 
him,  and  the  door  man  said  the  only  person  of  that  name 
about  the  place  was  tending  the  furnace  in  the  cellar. 
As  I  stood  on  the  sidewalk,  hesitating,  wondering  if  I 
had  mistaken  the  place,  up  popped  Dow's  head  through 
the  coal-hole! 

"  Why  hadn't  I  guessed  it  before  ?  I  don't  know  why, 
except  that  you  don't  judge  a  man  by  his  looks  or  his 
clothes  in  Boston,  only  by  his  language,  and  Mr.  Dow 
certainly  had  a  choice  and  entertaining  flow.  I  meant 
to  speak  of  it  to  Judith,  but  I  let  that  pass  by  too. 
Thinking  of  being  married  so  soon  myself  made  me 
feel  sympathy  for  a  woman  who  wanted  the  man  of 
her  choice  to  appear  to  advantage.  All  the  same  I  felt 
like  shortening  my  stay  as  much  as  possible,  and  I 
wrote  to  James  White  to  that  effect,  he  replying  by  re- 
turn mail.  He  said  that  only  one  thing  stood  in  the 
way  of  his  coming  on  the  first  of  April,  instead  of 
waiting  until  May;  a  small  mortgage  of  three  thousand 
dollars  was  due  on  the  farm,  so  that  he  must  wait  and 
arrange  for  it,  as  he  wished  to  use  the  money  he  had  in 
hand  for  our  journey  and  improving  the  place  to  suit 
me.  He  hinted  that  money  cost  more  out  in  Wis- 
consin than  it  does  East,  but  he  guessed  that  he'd 
have  no  difl&culty  in  renewing  the  mortgage  at  ten  per 
cent." 

Here  Miss  Keith  paused   for  breath,  clenched  her 


258  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

hands,  and  set  her  teeth,  as  if  taking  a  fresh  grip  on  her- 
self before  she  continued  the  confession.  The  expres- 
sion on  her  face  was  that  of  a  martyr,  not  only  refusing 
to  recant,  but  rather  insisting  upon  punishment.  This 
time,  however,  there  was  a  third  auditor,  the  Cub,  who 
was  standing  in  the  hallway,  concealed  by  the  door 
niche,  his  rather  small,  deep-set,  gray  eyes  fairly  spar- 
kling with  mischief. 

"As  I  said  before,  a  fool  and  his  money  are  soon 
parted,  and  here  is  where  I  parted  from  mine.  I  don't 
excuse  myself  and  say  that  I  was  overpersuaded,  for  I 
wasn't  —  I  was  hallucinated  and  avaricious  all  in  one. 
My  twenty  years'  savings,  four  thousand  dollars,  only 
drew  four  per  cent  in  the  savings-banks  where  I'd  put 
it.  If  I  took  up  that  mortgage  at  seven  even,  I  should 
really  be  owning  my  own  home,  favouring  my  husband, 
and  being  well  paid  for  so  doing,  besides  having  some- 
thing left  over,  for  even  then  a  long  experience  in 
peddling  eggs  had  learned  me  not  to  put  them  all  in 
one  basket. 

"So  I  wrote  James  White,  and  after  a  little  of  what 
seemed  natural  hesitation,  he  took  my  offer,  told  me  how 
to  forvi'ard  the  money,  and  said  he'd  bring  the  mort- 
gage on  with  him,  as  it  would  be  safer  than  in  the  mails. 
Also  that  he  would  be  on  in  ten  days  and  bring  his 
youngest  girl  with  him,  as  she  was  piney  and  he  wanted 
her  to  see  a  Boston  doctor,  and  she'd  be  company  for 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS    259 

me  if  I  felt  strange  in  going  back.  He  did  write  real 
considerate,"  and  Miss  Keith  paused  a  moment,  as 
if  she  could  not  yet  wholly  forget  her  hopes. 

"I  lived  well  at  Judith  Dow's  those  last  ten  days, — 
ice-cream  every  night  and  as  much  real  clear  coffee  as 
I  could  drink;  and  Mr.  Dow  brought  home  three  re- 
served-seat tickets  to  a  Boston  Symphony  concert,  but 
there  was  a  blizzard  that  night  and  the  electrics  got 
fouled,  so  we  didn't  get  there,  which  was  probably  lucky, 
as  I  now  firmly  beHeve  he  found  the  tickets  in  the 
street,  or  else  in  the  museum,  and  the  owner  might  have 
faced  us  down. 

"Judith  helped  me  with  my  shopping,  and  I  was 
ready  even  to  my  bonnet  (yes,  that  very  one  lying  anni- 
hilated over  there)  the  last  week  of  March.  James  wrote 
that  he  would  be  on  by  the  first  week  of  April,  and 
he  was,  the  first  day^  as  it  chanced.  It  was  just  before 
supper  that  night  when  Judith  came  running  up  all 
those  three  flights  of  stairs  and  only  had  strength  left 
to  say  'they've  come,'  and  ask  me  wouldn't  I  rather 
meet  James  alone  before  they  all  came  in  to  tea,  adding 
that  her  little  niece  was  very  weary  and  so  she  had  gone 
to  bed.  I  thought  Judith  looked  rather  queer  and  pale, 
but  I  laid  it  to  the  stairs  and  a  weak  heart,  and  having 
my  new  blue  waist  on,  I  went  straight  down. 

"  Judith  opened  the  door  of  the  parlour  to  let  me  pass, 
but  as  there  was  nobody  in  it  but  a  lean  old  man  with 


26o  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

a  loose,  close-shaven  upper  lip  and  chin  whiskers,  1 
backed  out  again,  thinkin'  she'd  made  a  mistake,  and 
James  was  in  the  livin'  room  where  we  ate;  but  she 
held  the  door,  and  I  said,  thinking  she  didn't  notice, 
'Mr,  White  isn't  here!' 

"*Yes,  he  is,'  said  she;  'James,  this  is  Keith  West, 
your  afl&anced ! ' 

"'You're  not  James  White!'  I  said,  getting  as  cold 
as  clams,  *I  have  his  picture;  he  is  dark,  and  stout,  and 
personable,  with  a  heavy  beard,  and  but  a  httle  turned 
of  fifty!' 

"'So  I  was,  twenty  years  ago,  when  that  picture  was 
took, '  said  the  horrid  old  man,  grinning  and  wobbling 
his  chin  as  he  came  forward,  and  before  I  knew  what  he 
was  doing  he  put  his  arm  around  my  waist. 

" '  How  dared  you  both  he  to  me  so ! '  I  cried,  turning 
to  Judith. 

"'I  didn't  send  you  any  picture;  it  was  sister,'  said 
he. 

"*I  didn't  lie  —  you  deceived  yourself,  you  never 
asked  when  the  picture  was  taken !  You  are  fifty  and 
he  was  a  grown  man  when  you  were  in  the  primary,'  said 
Judith,  sharp  as  a  knife.  And  when  I  came  to  think 
of  it  I  never  had  thought  of  this,  or  worked  out  his  age. 

" '  Give  me  back  my  money  and  I'll  leave  this  house 
to-night ! '  I  said,  but  even  then  Judith  persuaded  me 
to  sleep  over  it  and  that  things  might  look  differently 
in  the  morning. 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS    261 

"They  did  —  only  worse  —  for  that  night  one  of  the 
oldest  boarders,  a  third  cousin  of  theirs,  crept  in  and  told 
me  that  James  White  was  already  four  times  a  widower, 
his  farm  being  in  a  feverish  sort  of  country,  and  that 
the  girl — belonging  to  his  second  wife — who  had  come 
with  him  was  really  twenty,  though  she  had  never  grown 
since  she  was  ten,  and  had  epileptic  fits. 

"I  never  slept  a  wink,  but  packed  my  trunks  and 
slipped  out  for  an  expressman  as  soon  as  it  was  Hght, 
and  moved  to  a  woman's  temperance  hotel  that  I  had 
noticed  not  many  blocks  away. 

"James  White  and  his  sister  followed  me  hot-foot 
after  breakfast,  and  words  passed  on  both  sides,  Judith 
doing  more  talking  than  her  brother,  who  it  then  seemed 
to  me  was  somewhat  lacking  and  wouldn't  have  fought 
back  without  being  egged  on. 

"I  said  that  I  would  sue  for  my  money,  and  she  said 
that  he  would  sue  me  for  breach  of  promise,  which 
he  had  in  writing  and  signed  plainly !  I  stayed  at  that 
hotel  until  yesterday,  wresthng  with  my  pride,  and  then 
I  grew  so  homesick,  the  money  I'd  taken  dwindled, 
and  you  know,  Brooke,  you  said  that  you'd  be  glad  to 
see  me  if  I  ever  came  back,  and  so  here  I  am.  I'll  work 
my  board  out,  if  you'll  let  me,  until  I  can  look  about 
and  perhaps  rent  a  Httle  place  and  go  to  raise  chick- 
ens —  if  only  you'll  forget  all  that  I've  told  and  not 
repeat  it  except  to  Dr.  Russell.    Just  say  I've  changed  my 


262  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

mind,  for  if  Enoch  Fenton  got  hold  of  this  there'd  be 
no  rest  for  me  short  of  Middletown  Asylum,"  and  Keith, 
relaxing  at  last,  began  to  sob  just  as  she  had  the  day 
that  she  had  answered  James  White's  first  letter,  using 
Tatters'  head  (he  had  stolen  in  again)  for  a  pillow. 

Both  Brooke  and  Mrs.  Lawton,  remembering  her 
kindly  welcome  home  in  their  trouble,  said  all  in  their 
power  to  reassure  her,  and  the  younger  woman  gave  her 
a  rapid  sketch  of  her  new  business  plans,  saying  that  if 
her  hopes  were  realized  fair  pay  would  also  be  a  part  of 
the  cooperative  Uving.  Something  else  she  was  about 
to  add,  for  with  all  her  sentiment  Brooke  was  far-sighted, 
but  her  inborn  delicacy  stopped  her,  for  the  idea  seemed 
harsh  and  brutal  when  put  in  words. 

But  the  third  listener  read  his  sister's  thoughts  and 
did  not  hesitate.  Striding  into  the  room,  he  stood  be- 
fore his  astounded  kinswoman,  towering  above  her, 
and  said,  with  an  apparently  genial  smile  and  hands  in 
pockets:  "I'll  make  a  bargain  with  you.  Cousin  Keith, 
fair  and  square  over  the  right.  I'll  forget  all  about 
your  trip  to  Boston,  and  help  you  do  the  same,  unless 
you  forget  that  sister  is  mistress  here,  that  I'm  her 
backer,  and  mother  the  dowager  duchess!  In  which 
case  I  shall  remember,  and  with  trimmings!"  And 
strange  to  say,  the  boy's  unasked  championship  was 
possibly  the  only  thing  that  could  have  clarified  the 
situation  and  made  the  cooperative  household  a  possi- 
bility without  embarrassment  or  bitter  feeling. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  MASQUE  OF  SPRING 

The  new  dweller  in  the  country  longs  for  the  coming 
of  May  as  the  only  truly  gracious  month  of  the  New 
England  spring.  In  a  few  seasons,  however,  he  learns 
to  regret  April,  for  when  that  month  has  gone,  and  the 
curtain  fairly  rises  on  the  Masque  of  Spring,  while 
it  seems  as  if  the  orchestra  is  but  playing  the  overture, 
and  while  yet  he  is  watching  the  drapery  curtain  of 
leafage  unfold,  the  throng  on  foot  and  wing  pass  by, 
all  madly  whirhng  to  the  pipe  of  Pan  as  they  follow 
the  voice  of  the  ages  that  guides  them  to  their  breeding 
haunts,  lo  and  behold !  spring  promise  has  merged  in 
the  summer  of  fulfilment. 

It  was  Brooke's  first  knowledge  of  the  coming  of 
spring  in  wild  nature.  Spring  in  New  York  means 
a  certain  lassitude  and  enervation  —  the  sun  withers 
and  the  river  winds  chill  alternately  with  exasperating 
inconsistency.  The  planted  tuUps  put  up  their  deco- 
rous heads  in  the  parks  at  a  certain  date,  much  as  the 
women  in  the  streets  don  their  flowery  spring  head- 
gear,— both  are  pleasing  to  the  eye,  yet  there  is  nothing 

263 


264  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

spontaneous  or  unexpected  about  either ;  while  to  come 
suddenly  upon  a  mat  of  arbutus  or  catch  the  silvery 
gleam  of  a  mass  of  bloodroot  transfiguring  the  silence 
of  the  woodland,  where  the  leaves  of  a  dozen  winters, 
graduating  to  leaf  mould,  muffle  the  tread,  is  an  event. 
So  every  night  Brooke  longed  for  the  next  morning 
and  its  surprises,  and  every  morning  she  was  eager 
for  sunset  and  the  night  voices.  Not  that  she  wished 
time  away,  —  far  from  it,  —  but  to  her  its  passing  also 
meant  progress,  the  nearing  a  certain  goal. 

Sometimes  it  seemed  to  her  that  in  a  previous  exist- 
ence she  had  lived  the  Hfe  of  the  River  Kingdom ;  per- 
haps it  was  the  heredity  moulded  beside  the  Highland 
torrents  that  sang  to  her  in  the  voice  of  the  Moosatuk. 
On  this  last  day  of  April,  as  she  stood  at  the  edge  of 
the  pasture,  with  wands  of  deUcate  cherry  bloom  waving 
softly  between  her  and  the  river,  like  heralds  ushering 
one  into  the  presence  of  a  monarch,  the  words  from 
the  song  of  the  migrant  bird,  "  Out  of  the  South, "  came 
to  her  lips,  and  she  chanted  them  softly,  watching  the 
old  horse  holding  a  nose-to-nose  conversation  with  a 
neighbour  in  the  next  field:  — 

"  I  have  sought 
In  far  wild  groves  below  the  tropic  line 
To  leave  old  memories  of  this  land  of  mine. 

I  have  fought 
This  vague  mysterious  power  that  flings  me  forth 

Into  the  north. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  SPRING  265 

But  aU  in  vain,  when  flutes  of  April  blow, 
The  immemorial  longing  lures  me,  and  I  go ! " 

Then,  abandoning  for  the  time  the  fight  against  the 
lure  of  a  voice  beyond  her  ken  and  a  memory  in  which 
sweetness  and  pain  were  inextricably  blended,  she 
gave  herself  wholly  up  to  the  spell  of  the  present. 

Another  happening  that  day  lent  wings  to  her  spirit, 
though  the  thing  was  both  practical  and  humble. 
Bisbee,  the  stableman,  upon  the  strength  of  having 
seen  the  Sign  of  the  Fox  when  it  was  at  the  blacksmith's 
being  framed  in  iron  (for  the  rings  had  not  held), 
ordered  a  sign  for  his  newly  completed  stable,  offering 
the  generous  price  (to  him)  of  twenty-five  dollars  for 
it,  he  to  furnish  the  wood. 

"There's  a  regular  horse  painter  over  in  Gordon 
will  do  me  a  race-horse  in  a  sulky,  driver  included, 
for  fifteen,"  said  Bisbee,  a  big,  jolly,  Uberal  man,  whose 
rosy  cheeks  plainly  told  that  they  were  not  made  in 
New  England;  "but  he's  done  that  same  one  fer 
everybody  within  ten  miles.  Besides,  what  sense  in  a 
race-horse  sign  fer  a  family  stable,  say  I?  Give  me 
something  safe  and  assuring,  yet  not  too  safe ! " 

So  Brooke  had  eagerly  accepted  the  commission,  for 
with  the  return  of  Keith  West,  two  or  three  hours  a 
day  for  work  had  become  a  joyful  possibihty,  and 
she  conceived  the  idea  of  painting  the  heads  of  two 
horses  upon  the  sign-board  he   had   sent    up.     One 


266  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

must  represent  a  staid  family  horse,  and  the  other  a 
more  speedy  roadster,  and  as  she  looked  across  the 
pasture,  the  natural  position  of  the  two  gossips  by 
the  stone  fence  gave  her  the  motive  in  a  flash.  If  she 
only  had  the  board  there,  she  might  sketch  in  the 
grouping  at  once,  she  thought,  and  the  light  also  was 
exactly  as  she  would  wish  it.  The  sign  was  in  the  bam, 
but  it  was  too  heavy  for  her  to  carry,  and  Adam  had 
gone  up  to  Windy  Hill  for  the  day,  to  do  double  work, 
as  Robert  Stead  was  expecting  Dr.  Russell  to  go  on 
their  annual  trouting  excursion  to  Stony  Guzzle  the 
next  day.  WeU,  there  was  no  help  for  it,  but  still 
Brooke  gazed  about  as  if  expecting  help  would  fall 
from  the  skies  or  spring  Jack-in-a-box  fashion  from 
the  ground.  It  was  the  latter  that  happened,  for  at 
that  moment  the  head  of  the  farmer-on-shares  ap- 
peared above  the  fence  of  the  potato  field,  where  he 
had  just  completed  his  task  of  planting,  and  was  about 
to  follow  along  the  httle  brook  to  the  road. 

As  Brooke  hesitated  to  ask  him  to  do  an  errand  that 
certainly  had  nothing  to  do  with  farming,  he  paused 
involuntarily.  Meanwhile  Brooke  thought,  "I  can 
surely  ask  it  as  a  courtesy  such  as  any  man  would 
do  me,"  and  said,  "Good  morning,  Mr.  Maarten" 
(she  did  not  call  him  by  his  Christian  name  as  she 
would  have  one  distinctly  in  service,  for  instinct 
hinted  to  her   that  he  might  have  been  driven  to  his 


THE  MASQUE  OF  SPRING  267 

present  vocation  by  hard  luck),  "would  you  do  me  a 
favour  ? " 

Instantly  the  tools  and  potato  bag  were  dropped, 
but  he  did  not  take  the  advantage  of  coming  nearer, 
as  he  might  easily  have  done. 

Then  Brooke  explained  her  need  in  the  frank  way 
she  had  of  taking  people  into  her  confidence,  yet  with- 
out gush  or  familiarity,  that  had  always  been  one  of 
her  charms;  and  Maarten  hastened  to  the  bam  while 
she  went  to  the  house  for  her  chalk  and  sketching 
stool. 

In  an  hour,  after  several  false  starts,  Brooke  had 
compassed  the  grouping  and  outUne,  though  there 
was  one  curve  in  the  neck  of  the  young  horse  that 
displeased  her.  Hearing  the  pieman's  whistle  out 
on  the  road,  and  remembering  that  this  was  the  day 
when  she  was  to  accompany  him  on  his  route  to  "  Sister- 
in-law  Sairy  Ann's,"  and  knowing  that  Maarten  would 
naturally  have  gone  home  to  his  dinner,  —  for  he 
never  brought  it  in  a  pail  like  other  labourers,  her 
informant  being  Enoch  Fenton,  who  said  he  table- 
boarded  at  the  best  place  in  Gilead,  and  paid  six  dollars 
a  week,  and  most  likely  had  a  big  head,  —  she  was 
demurring  as  to  how  she  should  get  the  sign  back, 
for  to  leave  it  might  tempt  the  cows  to  lick  the  chalk 
off.  At  this  point  she  became  conscious,  through  one  of 
those  swift  half  glances  that  tell  so  many  tales,  that 


268  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Maarten  was  waiting  a  little  beyond,  and  not  only 
waiting,  but  watching  her  eagerly.  Therefore,  taking 
advantage  of  the  circumstance,  she  laughingly  apolo- 
gized for  asking  two  favours  in  one  day,  but  would  he 
carry  the  sign  back  to  the  little  harness  room,  long 
disused,  with  a  door  of  its  own  on  the  pasture  side 
of  the  bam,  where  the  sign  could  be  kept  free  from 
hay  dust?  —  adding,  half  aloud,  as  she  took  a  final 
look  at  her  work,  "There  is  something  wrong  about 
the  line  of  old  Billy's  neck;  it  could  not  possibly  twist 
like  that." 

Point  of  view  frequently  has  as  much  to  do  with 
our  estimate  of  a  thing  as  the  value  of  the  thing  itself. 
Therefore  Brooke's  progress  of  fifteen  miles  through 
the  hill  country  in  the  pieman's  wagon  brought  her 
in  touch  with  an  entirely  different  side  of  the  world 
of  the  woods  than  if  she  had  driven  over  the  same 
way  with  a  party  of  guests  who  chattered  inconse- 
quently,  or  gone  on  horseback  in  the  company  of 
Stead,  as  she  had  done  once  or  twice  lately,  for  even  the 
mild-mannered  old  horse  required  guiding  and  atten- 
tion that  banished  the  spirit  of  revery. 

The  pieman  had  covered  his  wares  carefully,  and 
rolled  up  the  curtains  all  around,  while  the  horse, 
dragging  the  loaded  cart,  proceeded  perforce  at  a 
walk,  so  that  Brooke,  seated  on  a  low  chair,  travelled 
with  all  the  leisurely  ease  of  an  old-time  queen  in  a 


THE  MASQUE  OF  SPRING  269 

palanquin.  This  pace  brought  her  close  to  every 
feature  of  the  Masque  of  Spring,  face  to  face  with  the 
reality  of  it,  and  she  could  anticipate,  and  then  reahze, 
every  detail  in  its  fulness. 

Her  charioteer  also  was  as  much  a  child  of  nature 
and  a  part  of  it  all  as  the  big  gray  squirrels  that  raced 
along  the  fence-tops,  while  his  simple  and  positive 
faith  in  the  goodness  of  all  created  things,  and  his 
intense  love  and  kinship  with  the  wild  brotherhood, 
opened  a  new  world  to  Brooke,  banishing  for  the  time 
all  care  and  responsibility  and  replacing  it  with 
the  wholesome  pleasure  of  the  hour,  bom  of  the  pure 
joy  of  mere  living.  When  one  has  known  trouble, 
and  then  felt  this  touch  of  peace,  is  it  not  the  new 
Revelation  of  God,  fitted  to  meet  the  needs  and  greeds 
of  to-day,  even  as  nineteen  centuries  ago  the  single- 
hearted  Messenger  brought  his  spiritual  message  to  the 
material  Oriental  world? 

They  would  travel  a  mile,  perhaps,  in  entire  silence, 
the  pieman  merely  pulling  up  now  and  then,  and  point- 
ing with  his  whip  to  a  warm  spot,  where  a  group  of 
silver-green  ferns  slowly  unfolded  and  stretched  their 
winter- cramped  paws,  or  else,  with  finger  raised,  caution 
silence  while  the  song  of  some  elusive  bird  thrilled 
the  air,  —  "Whitethroat,"  "Fox-sparrow,"  or  "Oven- 
bird,"  being  his  only  words.  Then  a  settlement  of 
half  a  dozen  houses,  and  a  period  of  bustle,  barter. 


270  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

and  exchange  of  news  would  interrupt,  and  so  on  until, 
as  the  "peepers"  began  to  tune  up,  and  the  sun  called 
the  warmth  of  the  day  swiftly  after  him,  they  turned 
into  Sairy  Ann's  yard. 

After  a  keenly  relished  supper,  Brooke  and  her 
guide  stole  out  to  the  edge  of  a  strip  of  woods  that 
separated  some  grass  meadows  from  a  brawling  trout 
stream  running  its  downhill  course  a  dozen  miles 
before  the  Moosatuk  received  it.  There,  seated  on 
a  log,  they  waited  as  the  twilight  began  to  cast  its  mys- 
terious spell.  Presently  a  strange  cry  sounded  through 
the  gloom,  was  repeated,  and  echoed  by  others  a 
second  and  a  third  time.  Next  a  rush  of  wings,  as 
if  a  bird  was  flung  suddenly  into  the  air,  opening  its 
wings  at  the  same  time.  A  sharp  whirring  sound 
followed,  increasing  as  the  wings  that  made  it  vanished 
skyward.  Bending  forward  to  watch  the  wonderful 
flight,  until  eye  could  not  see  it,  in  a  moment  Brooke 
was  startled  by  the  falling  as  of  a  bolt  from  the  clouds 
close  beside  her,  followed  by  a  sweet  musical  whistle. 

"First  one's  down  again,  —  see,  he's  doin'  it  over!" 
said  the  pieman,  and  the  call  and  lunge  were  repeated 
as  before.  But  this  time  the  girl's  eye  did  not  follow; 
the  wonder  and  rush  of  it  all  was  thrilling  her  from 
head  to  foot.  She  had  seen  the  sky-dance  of  the  wood- 
cock, the  free  Walpurgis  night's  festival  of  the  American 
river  woods,  with  wild  flowers  for  bracken  and  hem' 


THE  MASQUE  OF  SPRING  271 

lock  boughs  for  witches'  brooms.  Once  more  her 
toes  tingled,  music  rang  in  her  ears,  sorrow  and  love 
both  slipped  away,  and  she  was  again  the  little  girl 
playing  at  gypsy  queen  in  her  River  Kingdom. 
That  night  Brooke  slept  deeply,  but  it  was  the  sleep 
of  dreams  that  comes  from  being  drowned  in  a  "best 
room  "  feather-bed  for  the  first  time,  an  experience  both 
fearful  and  wonderful. 

Instead  of  starting  on  his  return  trip  at  seven  the 
next  morning,  as  usual,  the  pieman's  advice  was  asked 
by  his  widowed  relative  concerning  the  buying  of  a 
cow,  which  was  to  be  sold  at  auction  that  morning 
in  the  next  village.  For  this  one  day  at  least  Brooke 
was  in  no  haste,  and  as  the  auction  began  at  nine  o'clock 
and  was  two  miles  distant,  the  pieman  suggested  that  she 
might  Uke  to  spend  the  time  in  the  woods  that  they  had 
skirted  the  previous  night,  and  walk  along  the  stream. 
Then,  when  she  had  gone  as  far  as  she  chose,  all  she 
had  to  do  was  to  follow  the  brook  north  again  without 
fear  of  going  astray,  while  by  way  of  a  lunch  Sairy 
Ann  gave  her  half  a  dozen  mellow  russet  apples,  the 
storing  and  keeping  of  which,  in  prime  condition, 
well  into  the  summer  was  a  matter  of  great  pride. 

Nothing  could  have  suited  Brooke  better  than  these 
few  hours  of  perfect  liberty,  —  she  was  responsible 
for  nothing  about  her,  not  even  for  her  presence  there. 
The  widow's  hens  were  cackling  vigorously,  and  she 


272  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

laughed  as  she  realized  that,  whether  they  broke  their 
eggs  or  stole  their  nests,  it  was  a  matter  of  indifference 
to  her.  The  revulsion  from  the  tense  responsibility 
of  the  past  three  months  flew  to  her  head  like  the  subtle 
May  wine  of  the  Old  World,  her  heart  beat  fast,  she 
stretched  her  limbs,  and  then  began  to  thread  the 
woods  toward  the  stream  in  a  delicious  waking  dream. 

Being  guided  by  sound,  she  stood  looking  at  the  bits 
of  drift  that  swirled  by,  the  water  drawing  her  eyes 
and  holding  them  as  a  mirror  does  those  who  are  near 
it. 

In  a  few  moments  she  noticed  that,  while  there  was 
a  distinctly  marked  path  among  the  rocks  and  stones 
along  her  side  of  the  watercourse,  the  opposite  bank 
was  heavily  brushed  and  almost  impenetrable,  while 
the  sunhght  came  filtering  through  and  danced  upon 
the  water  in  a  way  that  entranced  the  artist  in  her. 
Choosing  a  mossy  stump,  and  being  thirsty,  for  the  first 
thirst  of  spring  is  more  keen  than  any  that  follows,  she 
seated  herself,  buried  her  shoe  tips  in  the  deep  moss,  and 
taking  an  apple  from  her  pocket  bit  into  it  dehberately, 
critically  watching  the  juice  ooze  from  the  wound 
her  teeth  had  made.  As  she  munched,  gazing  at  the 
sunbeams  chasing  the  shadows  over  the  water,  she 
was  startled  by  a  ringing  sound,  as  of  metal  striking 
stone.  It  was  repeated  several  times  before  she 
located  its  direction,  and  as  she  did  so,  saw  that  the 


THE  MASQUE  OF  SPRING  273 

noise  was  made  by  the  shoes  of  a  horse,  who  was  coming 
downstream,  browsing  along  the  foot-path,  in  the  line 
of  which  she  was  seated. 

A  second  glance  showed  her  that  it  was  Manfred, 
Stead's  horse,  with  bridle  fastened  loosely  to  the  saddle, 
while  a  fishing  basket  attached  to  one  side  easily 
explained  his  presence.  Seeing  Brooke,  he  came 
quickly  toward  her  with  a  friendly  whinny  and  nosed 
the  apple.  Almost  at  the  same  time  Robert  Stead 
himself,  in  the  water  to  the  knees,  slowly  wading  the 
somewhat  treacherous  shallows,  and  whipping  the 
stream  as  he  came,  appeared  from  under  the  arch 
of  overhanging  hemlocks. 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  seem  to  believe  the  sight 
of  his  own  eyes,  and  then,  rapidly  reeling  in  his  line,  he 
looked  out  for  the  nearest  landing  spot  and  stood  before 
Brooke,  with  an  expression  that  might  be  interpreted 
either  as  one  of  surprise  or  resentment  at  having  his 
sport  thus  interrupted.  But  then  he  had  acquired  a 
stem  expression  by  practice.  Brooke  had  often  before 
thought  he  wore  it  as  a  mask,  and  his  words  were  not 
angry,  but  almost  playful. 

"  Eve,  the  apple,  and  a  bit  of  Eden !  But  how  did  you 
come  here  and  what  are  you  doing?" 

"iVo/  Eve,  because,  as  you  will  observe,  I  am  not 
going  to  offer  my  apple  to  the  only  man  in  sight,  but 
share  it  with  a  good  sensible  horse,  who  will  not  tell 


274  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

tales.  I  came  up  to  the  farm  last  night  with  Mr. 
Banks,  the  pieman,  to  see  the  woodcock  dance,  and 
I'm  waiting  here  while  he  buys  a  cow  for  Sister-in-law 
Sairy  Ann.  As  to  what  I  am  doing,  I  was  eating  an 
apple,  but  Manfred  interrupted  me ;  and  now  I'm  going 
to  begin  another,  and  I'm  very  sorry  that  your  simile 
prevents  my  offering  one  to  you,  —  for  they're  good," 
and  Brooke  took  a  bite  from  a  particularly  fine  specimen, 
a  mischievous  glance  following  her  words. 

Stead  tethered  the  horse  a  few  yards  away  and,  com- 
ing back,  threw  himself  down  on  the  clean  hemlock 
needles  beside  her.  He  felt  suddenly  relaxed,  tired 
he  would  have  called  it,  as  if  rigidity  and  strength 
had  mysteriously  left  him. 

"And  you?"  continued  Brooke,  "I  see  of  course 
that  you  are  fishing,  by  the  two  small  trout  in  the  basket ; 
but  how  do  you  come  to  be  so  far  away  from  home 
at  eight  in  the  morning,  when  Adam  said  that  Dr. 
Russell  was  to  visit  you  to-day?" 

"Because  Dr.  Russell  came  on  the  mail  train  last 
night  and  is  now  whipping  the  west  branch  of  the 
stream;  in  this  narrow  cut  we  interfered,  and  we  shall 
meet  a  mile  below  at  Stony  Guzzle  in  the  course  of  an 
hour." 

"Then  you  had  better  take  to  the  water  again,  for 
I  heard  them  saying  last  night  that  this  stream  takes 
two  steps   sideways   for  every  one   it   goes   forward, 


THE  MASQUE  OF  SPRING  275 

and  that  gives  you  a  three-mile  walk  plus  fishing!" 
said  Brooke,  with  a  perfectly  frank  unconcern  that 
piqued  the  man  to  natural  contradiction. 

"Thank  you  for  your  prudent  advice,  but  I  would 
rather  sit  here,  for  once  simply  because  I  wish  to, 
and  trust  to  Manfred's  hoofs  for  catching  up  with 
the  doctor!" 

"Do  you  not  always  do  what  you  wish?"  asked 
Brooke,  surprised  at  his  changing  mood,  and  feeling 
her  way. 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  I  can  wish  to  lead  the  idle 
sort  of  life  I  do?"  he  asked  quickly,  looking  up  at  her 
to  compel  a  direct  answer.  "It  is  orJy  because  I 
have  not  a  motive  strong  enough  to  make  me  break 
away,  and  desire  of  action  is  dead;  but  is  that  doing 
as  one  wishes?" 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  loved  it  here  at  Gilead,  and 
could  not  be  happy  out  of  sight  of  the  river  —  I  —  at 
least  that  is  —  what  I  made  of  what  Dr.  Russell  said," 
stammered  the  girl,  astonished  at  his  vehemence  in 
contrast  to  his  usual  deliberation. 

"I  do  not  know  what  he  has  said,  —  nothing  unkind, 
that  I  warrant ;  but  he  does  not  know  —  no  one  does. 
Listen,  Brooke,  for  I  am  minded  to  do  what  I  have 
never  done  before  —  put  my  burden  on  some  one  else 
by  sharing  it,  and  tell  you  the  real  reason  why  I  am 
as  I  am,  which  has  never  before  passed  my  lips  in 


276  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

words.  No,  you  must  be  patient  and  listen,"  he  said, 
for  Brooke  had  made  a  sudden  movement  as  if  to 
rise.  Stead  did  not  realize  that  he  was  perhaps  spoil- 
ing the  girl's  holiday;  self-centred  he  was,  at  base 
an  egotist,  though  an  unconscious  one;  and  to  the 
fact  that  he  regarded  everything  at  the  point  where 
it  touched  himself  could  be  laid  the  pith  of  all  his  un- 
happiness. 

"Why  do  I  tell  you?  I  do  not  know,  except  that 
in  all  these  years  since,  you  are  the  first  woman  I  have 
met  whom  I  think  would  understand  and  who  is  also 
young  enough  to  have  mercy,  and  it  is  a  matter  for 
woman's  judgment.  Yesterday  a  letter  came  to  me 
from  an  old  friend  in  my  profession,  asking  me  to  over- 
look a  bit  of  bridge  work  for  him  for  a  month  or  so 
in  early  summer,  while  he  takes  some  needed  rest. 
At  the  end  he  tells  me  of  his  plans  for  work,  urges  me 
to  join  him,  and  gives  me  what  he  words  as  *a  last 
call  back  to  life.'  All  this  has  stirred  up  the  sources 
of  a  stream  I  thought  long  dry;  instead  of  putting  it 
away,  as  I  once  did,  as  something  done  and  gone,  it 
tempts  me,  and  I  am  strangely  all  at  sea.  I  feel  as  if 
I  only  need  some  one  in  whose  sincerity  I  could  believe 
to  say,  'Go  back  to  work,'  and  I  should  go." 

"And  leave  the  River  Kingdom?"  asked  Brooke, 
looking  up  in  alarm,  her  first  thought,  it  must  be  said, 
being  of  the  Cub's  schooUng.  "We  should  miss  you 
so." 


THE  MASQUE  OF  SPRING  277 

Stead's  eye  brightened,  and  taking  her  hand  that 
was  not  busy  with  the  apple  and  rested  on  the  stump, 
he  held  it  between  his  own.  He  himself  did  not  analyze 
his  motive,  simply  it  gave  him  comfort  and  secured 
her  attention.  Then  he  said  earnestly,  solemnly  it 
seemed  to  the  girl,  from  whose  eyes  the  merry  banter 
of  a  few  minutes  before  had  passed,  "Listen,  Brooke, 
brave  woman,  who  is  fighting  out  her  own  problems 
to  the  shame  of  others  such  as  I. 

"When  I  was  turning  thirty  and  engineering  a  rail- 
way through  a  mountain  region  of  the  south,  I  met 
and  loved  a  woman  as  heartily  as  a  man  may,  but 
the  passion  seemed  one-sided.  She  had  given  me 
a  final  answer,  and  I  was  preparing  to  go  away,  as 
gossips  whispered  there  was  'some  one  else,'  when 
the  next  day  she  recalled  the  no  and  made  it  yes. 

"I  was  almost  beside  myself  with  surprise  and  joy, 
and  after  a  brief  month  we  were  married,  for  my  work 
was  ended  and  I  was  going  North.  For  ten  years  we  led 
a  charmed  sort  of  life,  a  httle  girl  soon  coming  to  share 
it  with  us.  We  three,  with  Jos^  always  as  attendant, 
travelled  wherever  my  work  lay,  sometimes  living  in 
houses,  sometimes  in  tents,  but  always  happy.  Then 
the  first  grief  came  to  me  (it  is  nearly  twelve  years 
since)  —  my  Httle  Helen  died,  down  near  Oaklands, 
where  we  were  summering.  The  illness  came  like  a 
shot   in   the   dark,    without   warning,   and  Dr.  Rus- 


278  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

sell,  whom  I  then  met  for  the  first  time,  was  power- 
less. 

"After  this  my  wife  began  to  droop  and  grew  sadder 
day  by  day.  This  was  natural  except  for  the  fact 
that  she  sought  to  be  alone  and  avoided  me,  until 
one  day  in  a  fit  of  bitter  melancholy  she  told  me  the 
secret  that  had  lain  between  us  like  a  sword  all  through 
those  married  years. 

"When  I  had  first  met  her  she  had  a  lover,  a  wild, 
hot-blooded,  handsome  fellow  of  the  south  mining 
country,  —  for  him  she  refused  me !  At  the  same 
time,  unknown  to  her,  he  had  committed  a  crime  and 
the  law  was  on  his  track.  He  took  refuge,  as  they 
thought  he  would,  in  her  vicinity,  and  she  was  watched 
to  see  if  she  would  take  him  food  or  shelter  him.  To 
foil  them  she  betrothed  herself  to  me,  and  thus  dis- 
armed, the  watchers  left,  and  her  lover  escaped  scot 
free." 

"But  why  didn't  she  go  too,  or  follow  him?"  inter- 
rupted Brooke. 

"  Because  what  she  called  her  sense  of  honour  forbade 
her,  and  she  never  meant  that  I  should  know,  —  she 
was  wiUing  to  pay  the  price  of  the  scamp's  Ufe  with 
her  peace  of  mind." 

"  How  she  must  have  loved  him ! "  said  Brooke,  tears 
trembling  in  her  voice;  "I  don't  see  how  she  could 
have  lived  it  down.     To  save  the  man  you  love  by 


THE  MASQUE  OF  SPRING  279 

marrying  another,  even  if  it  was  the  only  way  —  oh, 
I  am  not  brave  enough  to  do  such  a  thing,  and  so  I 
must  not  judge  her!" 

For  a  moment  a  startled  expression  crossed  Stead's 
face,  as  if  this  side  of  the  matter  had  never  occurred  to 
him;  but  again  self  conquered. 

"Do  you  wonder  that  I  cannot  forget,  and  that 
nothing  seems  worth  while  when  I  know  that  in  those 
years  of  seeming  happiness  I  was  the  companion  of  a 
woman  whose  heart  was  never  mine;  who  played 
her  part  to  me,  until  the  child's  death  broke  the  capacity  ? 
Whom  can  I  trust  after  that?" 

"I  do  not  think  you  could  have  really  loved  her  as 
you  thought,"  said  Brooke,  looking  at  him  simply 
with  deep,  quiet  conviction  in  her  voice,  "for  if  you 
had  you  would  have  at  least  understood  her.  And 
at  the  worst  I  should  think  you  would  have  flown  to 
cvork  instead  of  away  from  it." 

"It  may  be  that  you  are  right,"  Stead  said,  after 
a  long  pause,  in  which  the  thoughts  of  both  travelled 
far,  but  in  different  directions;  "I  have  a  mind  to  try, 
but  I  shall  never  go  away  permanently  from  the  River 
Kingdom.  Child,  child!  how  strange  it  is  that  your 
words  should  have  been  so  long  on  my  lips  before  ever 
I  met  you !  Will  you  wish  me  luck  for  a  motive,  if  I  go 
in  June?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Brooke,  wondering  about  the  time 
of  day,  for  the  shadows  had  shifted  greatly. 


28o  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"And  be  glad  to  see  me  when  I  return?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Brooke,  frankly;  then,  as  other 
words  struggled  on  Stead's  Ups,  blocking  each  other 
by  haste,  the  pieman's  bell  warned  her  that  he  had 
returned  and  was  ready  to  start.  Giving  the  last  apple 
to  Manfred,  she  freed  her  hand,  stretching  it  vigor- 
ously, for  it  was  almost  numb,  sent  a  hasty  message  to 
Dr.  Russell,  and  fled  out  into  the  open. 

Robert  Stead  waited  motionless  for  several  minutes, 
looking  after  her;  then,  shaking  himself  as  a  horse 
does  after  a  period  of  standing,  he  led  Manfred  to  the 
wood  road  below,  and  prepared  to  make  up  for  lost 
time.  Yet  for  some  strange  reason  he  did  not  give  the 
^rl's  message  to  Dr.  Russell,  neither  did  he  vouch- 
safe any  explanation  of  the  fact  of  there  being  only 
two  trout  in  his  basket,  or  prate  about  "fisherman's 
luck"  when  the  enthusiastic  doctor  showed  ten  beauties 
bedded  in  wet  moss. 

There  was  enough  light  left  on  Brooke's  return  for 
a  survey  of  house,  garden,  and  bams.  It  is  strange 
when  one  goes  away  but  seldom,  that  to  find  everything 
in  place  on  the  return  and  people  doing  as  usual  comes 
as  a  certain  surprise.  She  opened  the  door  of  the  old 
harness  room  to  peep  at  her  sketch  of  the  horses.  After 
a  careful  survey,  she  said  to  herself,  "It  is  certainly 
true  that  one  cannot  judge  work  justly  kt  the  time 
it  is  done.    Yesterday  the  neck  of  the  young  horse 


THE  MASQUE  OF  SPRING  281 

seemed  all  awry,  but  to-day  it  has  exactly  the  toss  and 
turn  I  was  striving  for." 

As  she  closed  the  door  she  glanced  down  over  the 
fields,  but  neither  man  nor  horse  was  there,  only  a  con- 
vocation of  crows  sitting  on  the  fence.  The  pieman 
would  doubtless  have  maintained  that  they  were  dis- 
cussing among  themselves  the  probable  location  of  this 
season's  corn-fields. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  WAY  THE  WIND  BLEW 

However  anxious  the  wife  of  Senator  Parks  had  been 
to  impress  herself  upon  New  York  society,  she  experi- 
enced a  delightful  sense  of  relief  when  the  winter  of  her 
novitiate  was  ended.  Furling  her  banners  of  tactful 
triumph,  she  left  town  immediately  after  Easter,  thereby 
doing  the  correct  thing  and  following  her  own  mood,  a 
combination  of  rare  accompUshment. 

Many  times  during  the  season  she  had  thought  of  the 
Lawtons  and  missed  Brooke  sorely  from  the  circle  of 
bright  young  women  in  their  "  third  and  fourth  winters," 
whom  she  had  the  good  sense  as  well  as  the  attraction 
to  draw  about  her;  but  the  swirl  of  the  pool  had  been 
so  insistent  that  she  had  done  little  more  than  to  send 
Brooke  one  or  two  cordial,  if  inconsiderate,  notes  of  in- 
vitation to  visit  her,  which  of  course  had  not  been 
accepted. 

Now  that  she  had  moved  to  the  famous  Sm)rthers  place 
at  Gordon,  and  found  her  early  passion  for  outdoor  life 
and  her  developed  taste  for  luxury  at  onceiteufl&ciently 
satisfied  by  its  beauty  and  stimulated  by  its  possibili- 

2S2 


THE  WAY  THE  WIND  BLEW  283 

ties,  she  desired  the  companionship  of  some  one  of  taste^ 
a  friend  and  not  a  timeserver,  with  whom  she  could 
discuss  her  plans.  Immediately  her  mind  reverted  to 
Brooke  Lawton,  and  knowing  from  Lucy  Dean  that 
Gilead  was  within  driving  distance  from  Gordon,  she 
set  out  in  her  victoria  one  exquisite  afternoon  toward 
the  end  of  May  to  locate  Brooke.  Visiting  Mrs.  Parks 
was  an  elderly  New  York  matron,  Mrs.  Van  Kleek,  of 
particular  social  importance,  who  was  anxious  to  run 
over  to  her  own  cottage,  recently  built  in  Stonebridge 
and  not  yet  open  for  the  season,  in  consequence  of  which 
this  drive,  having  a  double  mission,  began  immediately 
after  luncheon. 

Both  coachman  and  footman,  being  new  importa- 
tions to  the  hill  country,  knew  even  less  about  the  upper 
and  lower  turnpike  and  maze  of  cross-roads  than  did 
their  employer,  who  had  a  general  idea  of  the  region. 
It  seemed  an  easy  matter  to  keep  the  river  in  sight,  and 
yet  the  constant  desire  of  the  ladies  to  follow  up  each 
pretty  lane,  with  its  delicate  fringe  of  wild  flowers  or 
drapery  of  catkins,  kept  luring  them  away  from  it  at 
righl  angles;  so  that  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  found 
the  sweating  horses,  as  yet  unused  to  anything  longer 
than  the  drive  through  the  park  to  Claremont  and  re- 
turn, toiling  wearily  uphiU  on  the  upper  pike  just  above 
Gilead,  fa«ng  the  way  in  which  they  desired  not  to  go, 
but  had  accomplished  by  looping  about  in  a  figure  eight 


284  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

The  coachman  was  growing  momentarily  more  anx- 
ious lest  the  horses  should  break  down ;  the  footman  was 
bored  and  cramped  with  long  sitting;  both  ladies  were 
weary,  quite  talked  out,  and  longing  for  their  afternoon 
tea;  while  Mrs.  Parks  was  also  exasperated  at  the 
failure  of  the  excursion. 

"Stop  a  moment,  Benson,  and  let  Johnson  ask  that 
man  in  the  field  yonder  if  we  are  on  the  right  road  to 
Stonebridge,  and  if  there  is  any  place  near  where  we 
can  rest,"  she  said  finally.  Benson  pulled  up  as  well 
as  he  could  on  the  inchne;  Johnson  dismounted  and 
interviewed  the  farmer  and,  returning  with  a  disgusted 
expression,  said,  "Stonebridge  is  six  miles  downhill,  the 
way  we've  come  up,  mum,  and  if  you  please  Gilead  is 
that  village  a  mile  and  a  half  back,  mum,  we  passed 
a  bit  ago.  This  'ere  is  the  hupper  road,  the  one  in  the 
dip  below  follows  the  river  easy  from  Gordon  to  Stone- 
bridge,  and  he  says  we'd  best  get  on  that." 

Mrs.  Parks  demurred  a  moment,  and  while  she  did 
so  Benson,  whose  word  was  law  in  all  matters  concerning 
the  Parkses'  horseflesh,  turned  on  the  box  and,  touching 
his  hat,  said  in  a  tone  that  was  not  to  be  contradicted, 
"Mrs.  Parks,  mum,  we  must  keep  on  the  way  we  are 
going,  facin'  with  the  wind  until  we  can  get  to  a  flat  spot 
where  I  can  blanket  my  horses  and  rest  them  a  bit. 
I'd  not  take  the  risk  of  turning  them  againa  that  chill 
river  breeze  in  their  present  sweat." 


THE  WAY  THE  WIND  BLEW  285 

Both  ladies  understood  stable  ethics,  and  the  moods 
of  husbands  when  these  same  are  disregarded,  too  well 
to  object,  and  so  a  drive  that  would  not  have  been 
abandoned  for  an)rthing  else  was  reversed  by  the  mere 
blowing  of  the  wind. 

Reaching  the  beginning  of  the  plateau  by  the  West 
homestead,  Benson  had  the  tact  to  choose  a  spot  for 
blanketing  the  horses  where  the  cross-road  opened 
Brooke's  favourite  river  vista  to  the  ladies  in  the  carriage. 

"How  beautiful!"  mumbled  Mrs.  Van  Kleek, 
drowsily,  her  dry  tongue  cleaving  to  the  roof  of  her 
mouth. 

"It  would  be  if  we  could  only^'have  our  tea,"  sighed 
Mrs.  Parks.  "I  declare  I  must  have  an  outfit  of  some 
kind  adjusted  to  this  carriage,  for  I'm  devoted  to  driving, 
and  every  one  says  that  it  is  the  great  feature  of  this  hill 
country,  and  of  course  there  isn't  a  place  around  here 
where  they  know  what  tea  is." 

Johnson,  who  had  been  reconnoitring  with  an  eye 
to  a  well,  returned  at  that  moment.  "Hup  yonder, 
mum,  there's  a  neat  house,  mum,  and  a  sign  of  a  fox 
hangs  by  the  gate,  mum,  quite  Uke  the  old  country,  only 
it  says  'TEA'  instead  of  hale,  mum." 

"Tea  on  a  sign-board  here  in  the  backwoods !  Lead 
the  horses  a  little  farther  up,  Benson,  and  Johnson,  do 
you  go  in  and  ask  what  we  can  have, "  —  turning  to 
Mrs.  Van  Kleek,  "I  don't  suppose  the  tea  will  be  any 


286  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

good,  herbs  or  old  hay,  but  at  least  it  will  be  wet,  and 
perhaps  hot,  and  I'm  beginning  to  feel  the  evening  chill 
in  the  wind.  I  wonder  why  no  one  has  the  sense  to 
have  a  good  tea  place  hereabouts,  like  the  English  tea- 
gardens,  where  they  would  put  up  sandwiches  for 
fishing  and  touring  parties  and  all  that.  They  could 
make  a  fortune  in  the  season,  I'm  sure." 

"Here's  the  bill  of  fare,  mum,"  said  Johnson,  re- 
turning and  presenting  the  card;  "a  most  genteel  place, 
mum,  though  they've  no  license  for  spirits.  Every- 
thing made  fresh  to  order,  mum,  and  in  fifteen  minutes. 
Besides  what's  there,  mum,  there's  ginger  hale  and 
club  sody,  and  will  you  'ave  it  'ere  or  go  on  the  porch, 
mum?" 

"Mrs.  Van  Kleek,  will  you  look  at  this !"  ejaculated 
Mrs.  Parks,  laying  the  card  upon  that  lady's  lap  as  if 
she  had  suddenly  been  presented  with  a  patent  of 
nobility. 

"  Printing,  get-up,  prices,  quite  like  Tokay's !  We 
will  decide  quickly,  lest  the  thing  prove  an  illusion  and 
vanish  as  we  near  it,  Cheshire-cat  fashion.  Johnson, 
we  will  have  a  pot  of  tea  for  two,  with  cream,  and  half  — 
no,  a  dozen  lettuce  and  chicken  sandwiches,  served  out 
here.  Also  you  may  get  ginger  ale  and  cheese  sand- 
wiches for  Benson  and  yourself,"  for  Mrs.  Parks  owed 
much  of  her  social  success,  as  well  as  happiness  in  life, 
to  the  fact  that  she  recognized  the  equal  primal  neces- 


THE  WAY  THE  WIND   BLEW  287 

sities  of  all  classes,  and  she  argued  that  if  Mrs.  Van 
Kleek  and  herself,  seated  at  ease  in  the  carriage,  were 
thirsty  beyond  endurance,  Benson  and  Johnson  on  the 
box  must  be  doubly  so. 

In  due  course  the  man  returned,  and  turning  up  the 
flap  seat  in  front  of  the  ladies,  placed  the  tray,  with  its 
dainty  array,  upon  it. 

"Damask  napkins,  instead  of  paper!"  gasped  Mrs. 
Van  Kleek. 

"Real  cream!"  said  Mrs.  Parks,  "and  domino 
sugar!" 

"Enghsh  breakfast  tea,  smell  the  aroma!  a  pot  with 
an  inside  strainer,  and  porcelain  cups  and  saucers!" 
continued  Mrs.  Van  Kleek,  proceeding  to  pour  the  tea, 
after  which  the  remarks  of  the  two  women  turned  into 
a  veritable  patter  song  of  praise,  punctuated  by  sipping 
and  munching. 

"Really,  this  is  most  extraordinary!  I  wish  I  could 
tell  of  what  those  plates  remind  me;  I  seem  to  have 
seen  the  pattern  before.  Ferns,  and  no  two  bits  quite 
alike,  —  it's  not  at  all  hke  the  usual  commercial  china," 
said  Mrs.  Van  Kleek,  sinking  comfortably  back  among 
the  cushions,  after  finishing  two  cups  of  tea,  together 
with  five  of  the  dehcate  sandwiches,  and  still  looking 
meditatively  at  the  sixth,  murmuring,  "Tokay  could 
not  outdo  this,  they  are  of  the  best  —  and  the  tea  — 
simply  unique!" 


288  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"  Johnson,"  called  Mrs.  Parks,  for  the  two  men  were 
eagerly  regaling  themselves  at  a  respectful  distance, 
"  take  back  the  tray  and  see  if  they  can  change  this  bill  — 
and  Johnson,  was  there  a  waiter  or  any  one  there  who 
should  have  a  tip?" 

"I  should  jedge,  mum,  there  was  one  elderish  party 
who  should ;  she  was  rather  snappy,  mum,  and  charged 
me  not  to  break  the  ware;  but  the  others  are  gentle- 
folks, mum,  quite  through,  and  said  as  of  course  I'd  be 
careful,  which  of  a  certain  I  would,  mum,  and  me  bein' 
in  service,  mum,  where  I'd  always  known  real  china 
from  Liverpool,  and  plate  from  pewter,  which  they 
'ad  the  eye  to  see,  mum,"  and  Johnson  walked  ofif,  bear- 
ing the  tray  as  carefully  as  if  it  held  family  plate. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  Mrs.  Parks  called  after  him;  "ask 
if  they  can  put  me  up  fifty  sandwiches,  some  of  each 
kind,  for  ten  o'clock  to-morrow,  and  pack  them  in  a 
box,  and  if  they  know  where  a  family  named  Lawton 
Uve  hereabouts,  —  the  Adam  Lawtons. "  Then  to  Mrs. 
Van  Kleek,  "The  Senator  is  going  to  take  those  four  old 
California  chums  of  his,  that  come  to-night,  trout  fish- 
ing somewhere  up  this  way  to-morrow,  to  a  place  called 
Muzzle  Guzzle,  or  some  such  name.  I  wished  to  send 
a  nice  luncheon  out  in  the  bus  with  the  camping  stove 
and  the  under  cook  to  have  it  hot  for  them,  but  no,  the 
Senator  has  ordered  sandwiches  —  plenty  of  sand- 
wiches, with  Scotch  and  soda.    They  are  to  be  driven 


THE  WAY  THE  WIND  BLEW  289 

only  to  the  foot  of  the  hills,  and  then  walk  for  the  rest 
of  the  day.  He  says  they  want  to  forget  who  and  where 
they  are  for  once,  —  be  boys  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know,  —  so  if  I  could  get  the  soda  and  sandwiches 
here  it  would  be  quite  delightful. 

"How  long  he  stays!  I  believe  I  will  go  in  myself 
and  see  to  the  matter,  for  my  curiosity  is  quite  piqued. 
Will  you  come?  No  —  very  well,  I'll  not  be  gone  a 
moment,"  and  Mrs.  Parks,  her  delicate  robes  trailing 
behind  her,  crossed  the  dandelion-studded  sward  toward 
the  house,  with  a  swish  and  swirl  of  skirts,  and  a  step 
as  elastic  as  that  of  a  young  girl.  Laugh,  as  has  been 
the  foolish  fashion,  at  those  women  who  come  out  of  the 
West  to  receive  the  chill  of  eastern  polish;  yet  they 
bring  us  a  better  gift  than  they  take,  that  of  buoyancy 
of  heel,  head,  and  heart  that  we  greatly  need. 

Mrs.  Van  Kleek  meantime  adjusted  her  head,  heavy 
with  comfortable  sleep,  and  gratefully  entered  the  Land 
of  Forty  Winks,  evidently  for  a  protracted  visit. 

Hesitating  as  to  whether  front  or  side  door  was  the 
legitimate  entrance  for  wayfarers,  and  deciding  upon 
the  latter,  Mrs.  Parks,  rounding  the  comer  hurriedly, 
came  face  to  face  with  Brooke,  who  was  coming  up  from 
the  garden  bearing  a  great  bunch  of  lilies-of-the-valley, 
while  Tatters  trotted  beside  her  carrying  a  basket  that 
held  still  more. 

"Brooke  Lawton  at  last!"  and  Mrs.  Parks  put  out 


290  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

her  arms  and,  to  Johnson's  amazement,  clasped  Brooke, 
flowers  and  all,  in  a  hug  of  spontaneous  pleasure,  that 
made  the  girl's  heart  beat  quick  for  many  a  day,  as  she 
thought  of  it. 

"Is  this  quaint,  delightful  place  an  inn  as  well,  and 
are  you  stopping  here?"  queried  Mrs.  Parks,  holding 
Brooke  off  at  arm's  length,  first  looking  at  her  and 
then  sweeping  the  surroundings  with  a  comprehensive 
glance. 

"No,  it  isn't  an  inn  exactly,"  replied  Brooke,  mis- 
chief lurking  at  the  comers  of  her  eyes  and  mouth, 
"though  I'm  staying  here.  I  am  the  Sign  of  the  Fox, 
and  this  is  my  home!  Now  that  you  are  here,  pray 
come  in  and  see  mother,  while  I  make  you  a  bouquet 
from  my  very  own  garden  in  remembrance  of  the  hot- 
house liUes  you  sent  us  when  father  was  first  ill." 

"The  Sign  of  the  Fox !  —  you !  how  do  you  mean?'* 
ejaculated  Mrs.  Parks,  knitting  her  brows  as  if  some  one 
had  asked  her  to  guess  a  conundrum.  "Ah,  yes,  then 
that  was  your  mother's  fern  china  and  her  brand  of  tea 
that  we  all  used  to  rave  overl  Mrs.  Van  Kleek  was 
recalling  it  only  an  hour  ago  —  by  the  way  she's  out  in 
the  carriage  (go  teU  her,  Johnson,  that  Miss  Lawton 
Uves  here  and  ask  her  to  come  in).  But  I  do  not  yet 
quite  understand." 

"It  is  this  way,"  explained  Brooke,  with  an  admirable 
self-possession,  in  which  difl&dence  and  independence 


THE  WAY  THE  WIND   BLEW  291 

were  equally  blended.  "We  had  the  farm  and  a  bit  of 
money,  but  not  quite  enough  to  keep  us ;  the  life  agrees 
with  father,  and  may  cure  him.  If  Adam  and  I  went 
away  to  earn  more  money,  mother  could  not  stay 
alone.  Then.  I  tried  to  think  what  I  could  do  or 
sell  here.  People  drive  a  great  deal  hereabouts;  the 
hill  country  makes  people  hungry;  therefore  why  not 
make  and  sell  good  tea  and  good  sandwiches?  And 
I  think  that  you  must  have  found  them  so,"  she  added 
archly,  looking  at  the  empty  plate  upon  the  tray  that 
Johnson  had  left  on  the  serving  table  in  the  screened 
porch. 

"  Good !  superlatively  so !  but  why  didn't  you  write 
me  of  your  plan  and  let  me  exploit  it  and  interest 
our  own  set?  for  you  know  that  they  are  scattered 
all  over  these  parts  at  some  time  of  the  year,  either 
for  the  entire  season,  or  between  times,  and  before  and 
after  Newport  and  Europe.  I  would  have  done  it  with 
a  will,  I  assure  you,  as  I  shall  now  with  a  megaphone 
voice,  in  spite  of  you !" 

"I  know  that  you  would  have,  Mrs.  Parks,  and  Lucy 
Dean  wished  to  also ;  but  what  has  happened,  I  think 
you  must  acknowledge,  is  best.  I  wanted  people  to  find 
out  for  themselves,  as  you  have  done,  and  if  they  bought 
my  wares,  to  do  so  because  they  are  good  and  they  need 
them,  not  because  I  sell  them  and  desire  their  money. 
Otherwise  the  sun  would  very  soon  set  on  the  Sign  of 


292  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

the  Fox,  instead  of  apparently  beginning  to  rise.  Yoii 
know  that  it  is  the  way  of  the  world ! 

"But  tell  me;  how  did  you  come  upon  us?  merely 
by  chance?  This  must  be  a  lucky  'red  letter  day,*  for 
Lucy  herself  is  coming  to  visit  me  to-night;  Adam  has 
already  driven  down  to  Gilead  for  her." 

"Partly  that,  but  chiefly  because  of  the  way  the  wind 
blew.  You  see  we  started  for  Stonebridge  and  circled 
about,  not  finding  our  mistake  until  we  began  to  chmb 
the  hill  below.  By  that  time  the  horses  were  quite 
spent,  and  Benson  would  not  turn  back  in  the  teeth  of 
the  river  wind." 

"It's  no  use,  mum,"  said  Johnson,  returning,  "Mrs. 
Van  KJeek  is  sleepin'  that  'eavy  and  'appy  it  would  take 
a  brass  band  to  wake  her,  mum,"  so  the  two  women 
passed  indoors,  the  fragrance  of  the  liHes-of-the-valley 
lingering  in  the  air. 

When  Mrs.  Parks  left,  her  arms  full  of  flowers,  a  half- 
hour  had  sped  by ;  but  Mrs.  Van  Kleek,  awaking  with  a 
jerk,  was  none  the  wiser  for  it,  for  one  of  Mrs.  Parks's 
maxims  was  that  it  is  always  a  mistake  to  apologize,  save 
at  the  pistol's  point,  because  it  usually  provokes  irrita- 
tion by  calHng  attention  to  things  that,  ten  to  one,  would 
otherwise  pass  unnoticed.  As  the  victoria,  following 
Brooke's  advice,  turned  the  corner  toward  the  lower  road, 
they  met,  coming  up,  a  fat-stomached  country  horse  drag- 
ging a  rockaway,  that  pulled  to  the  side  of  the  narrow 


THE  WAY  THE  WIND   BLEW  293 

cross-road  to  let  them  pass.  In  it,  beside  Adam,  sat 
Lucy  Dean,  while  the  rear  seat  was  heaped  with  hand- 
baggage;  she  waved  gayly  to  Mrs.  Parks,  who  would 
have  stopped  then  and  there  for  a  gossip  about  the  after- 
noon's events,  but  Benson,  intent  on  making  the  home 
stretch,  aU  deaf  to  her  exclamation,  kept  his  horses  up 
to  the  bit,  and  soon  the  river  road  echoed  their  hoof- 
beats. 

As  to  Mrs.  Lawton,  the  visit,  brief  as  it  had  been,  did 
her  untold  good,  besides  giving  her  no  feeling  save  of 
pleasure,  thus  bringing  her  for  the  second  time  naturally 
in  contact  with  old  acquaintances,  without  in  the  least 
destroying  her  peace  of  mind  or  making  her  doubt  the 
wisdom  of  having  broken  away  from  the  old  life. 

Brooke  and  Lucy  always  met  with  enthusiasm;  in- 
deed, one  of  the  reasons  for  the  stanch  friendship  of 
the  two  being  the  way  in  which  they  supplemented  each 
other,  thus  allowing  the  character  of  both  complete 
scope,  without  forcing  either  into  the  lead,  except  in 
matters  conversational. 

"I  was  so  surprised  and  pleased  when  I  knew  that 
you  would  come,  for  the  very  evening  after  I  wrote  I  saw 
in  the  Daily  Forum  that  you  were  starting  with  your 
father  on  his  car  party  to  California.  How  did  it  happen 
that  you  changed  your  niind?"  asked  Brooke,  leading 
the  way  to  the  little  room  next  hers,  for  which  Lucy  had 


294  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

begged,  instead  of  the  formal  and  unused  best  room 
over  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lawton's,  which  some  day  was  to  be 
beautified,  but  at  present  harboured  the  dreadful  black 
walnut  furniture  moved  from  below,  in  addition  to  smell- 
ing of  wood  soot  and  wasps. 

Lucy  threw  herself  into  the  arms  of  a  fat  rocking-chair 
that  was  covered  with  a  cheerful  bird-of-paradise  chintz, 
and  rumpled  her  hair  back  from  her  forehead  before  she 
answered.  So  long  was  she  about  it  that  Brooke  looked 
toward  her  apprehensively,  fearing  that  the  trip  might 
have  given  her  a  headache;  then  she  noticed  that 
Lucy  really  looked  tired,  and  that  there  was  a  lack  of 
colour  in  her  cheeks  for  which  car  soot  could  not  wholly 
account. 

"I  did  expect  to  go,  and  had  planned  out  a  delightful 
group  of  people  for  the  trip,  which,  aside  from  pleasure 
as  a  side  issue,  was  to  explore  and  exploit  a  new  bit  of 
country  that  father  thinks  needs  a  railroad,  and  help 
convince  his  friends  of  that  fact. 

"The  Forum  offered  to  send  Tom  Brownell  as  the 
newspaper  man  of  the  trip,  besides  which  two  or  three 
others  we  had  chosen  are  always  excellent  fun,  and  Mrs. 
Parks  was  to  be  chaperon,  at  which  she  is  a  perfect 
success.  She  has  the  knack  of  always  being  on  the 
spot,  in  case  any  one  needs  to  prove  or  disprove  an 
alibi,  yet  at  the  same  time  is  totally  obHvious ;  so  Mrs. 
Grundy  never  has  a  chance  to  say  a  word,  and  every 
one  is  happy." 


THE  WAY  THE  WIND   BLEW  295 

"  Did  you  turn  your  back  on  such  attractions  to  come 
to  us?"  said  Brooke,  deeply  touched.  Her  feeling 
showed  plainly  in  the  look  she  gave  Lucy,  as  after  un- , 
packing  her  friend's  toilet  things,  she  had  dipped  a  sponge 
in  warm  water,  and  kneeUng  by  her,  began  to  bathe  her 
forehead  and  eyes  as  gently  as  if  Lucy  had  been  a  tired 
little  child. 

Lucy  closed  her  eyes  and  gave  a  sigh  of  content  at 
the  touch  of  Brooke's  fingers,  but  in  a  second  opened 
them  again,  and  looking  straight  at  Brooke,  repUed: 
"No,  I  won't  let  you  quite  think  that,  though  you  know 
that  I  love  to  be  with  you  and  your  mother.  Some  of 
the  party  turned  their  backs  on  me ;  first,  Tom  Brow- 
nell  had  himself  replaced  (I  made  sure  through  Charlie 
that  it  was  his  own  doing)  by  a  young  westerner  who, 
he  said,  'knew  the  local  ropes'  better,  and  would  be  of 
greater  advantage  to  the  prospectors.  Next  Mrs.  Parks 
decided  that  as  the  baby  was  teething  she  could  not  leave 
him  for  so  long,  in  spite  of  having  a  separate  maid  for 
his  head,  hands,  and  feet,  besides  a  trained  nurse  in 
perpetual  residence. 

"Then  father  suggested  that  little  Mrs.  Morton  be 
invited  in  Mrs.  Parks's  place.  You  must  remember 
her,  —  the  Hendersons'  cousin,  a  pretty,  subdued  Uttle 
widow  of  about  thirty,  who  puts  people's  houses  in 
order  and  sees  to  the  curtains  and  other  interior  decora- 
tions.   She  always  looks  as  if  she'd  been  cut  out  for  a 


296  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

good  time,  but  fate  has  been  rough  to  her,  and  though 
she  is  working  hard  to  get  used  to  it,  a  merry  devil 
will  look  out  of  her  eyes  in  spite  of  herself." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember.  She  redecorated  your  house 
as  a  surprise  for  you  the  season  we  were  abroad,  I 
believe,"  said  Brooke,  sudden  illumination  coming  to 
her,  for  it  had  been  openly  whispered,  early  in  the 
season,  that  Mr.  Dean  was  ardently,  if  maturely,  in 
love  with  Mrs.  Morton,  but  that  the  little  lady's 
peace-loving  nature  and  hardly  won  independence, 
coupled  with  a  fear  of  Lucy  and  her  sharp  tongue, 
stood  firmly  in  the  way  of  a  very  comfortable  and 
suitable  match. 

"Yes,  and  father  wished  it  done  over  again  this  win- 
ter, but  I  absolutely  refused  to  be  routed  out  in  cold 
weather.  Now  I'd  heard,  as  I  know  you  have  by  your 
face,  Miss  Simplicity,  that  father  was  supposed  to  wish 
to  marry  the  lady  long  ago,  but  that  she  was  afraid  of 
me.  At  first  it  pleased  me  to  have  her  afraid ;  I  revelled 
in  it,  also  I  thought  that  the  idea  would  wear  off  with 
father. 

"Lately  I've  changed  my  mind,  and  I  think  life  is  too 
good  to  live  it  alone,  and  that  everybody  ought  to  marry 
any  one  they  wish  to,  provided  the  person  does  not  have 
fits  or  inherit  consumption.  Then  I  went  to  father 
and  told  him  so,  and  he  was  so  pleased  that  he  nearly 
made  me  cry,  for  though  he  always  said  that  I  was 


THE   WAY  THE  WIND   BLEW         297 

everything  to  him,  it  wasn't  quite  true  it  seems ;  and  he 
said  that  some  day  I  would  find  out  that  he  was  not 
quite  everything  to  me,  and  oh,  Brooke,  I  really  think 
I  should  Uke  to!" 

Brooke,  who  was  still  kneehng  by  Lucy,  put  her  arms 
around  her,  and  the  two  women,  each  having  felt  the 
mysterious  throb  of  the  woman  heart  that  made  them 
kin,  rested  a  moment  cheek  to  cheek. 

Lucy  recovered  first,  and  shaking  off  the  tender  mood, 
tossed  her  head,  the  usual  bravado  returning  to  eye  and 
lip  as  she  said:  "Next,  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Morton  and 
told  her  that  so  far  as  I  was  concerned  the  coast  was 
clear,  that  I  bore  no  malice,  and  that  I  hoped  she 
and  father  would  have  a  jolly  old  age  (she  is  only  six 
years  older  than  I) ;  but  tha^  I  simply  could  not  go  on 
the  car  trip  with  them,  though  I  would  thank  her  not 
to  announce  it  until  after  the  start. 

**  She  —  well,  she  is  a  good  sort,  and  I  guess  we  under- 
stand each  other,  for  she  looked  me  straight  in  the  face 
and  said  she  hoped  she'd  have  a  chance  some  day  to 
stand  by  me  in  return,  and  she  didn't  slop  over  or  call 
me  'dear  daughter,'  or  say  she'd  be  a  mother  to  me,  for 
any  grown  woman  knows  that  there  is  only  one  who  caD 
be  that. 

"Consequently  society  and  Charlie  Ashton  think 
that  I'm  speeding  to  California,  while  in  reality  I've 
flown  to  you  for  protection  against  the  blues,  and  I  want 


298  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

to  stay  a  month  if  you  will  let  me  cook  and  do  every- 
thing as  you  do  —  it  is  what  I  need.  Who  knows  but 
I  might  turn  farmer,  or  try  love  in  a  cottage  myself 
some  day." 

"A  month,  Lucy!  oh,  how  good!"  cried  Brooke. 
**  Yes,  you  shall  do  as  we  do,  —  you'll  really  have  to  if 
business  rushes  as  it  has  since  we  began,  —  but  I'm 
afraid  you  will  find  it  very  dull,  unless  your  fate  dashes 
up  in  an  automobile." 

"Dull!  not  a  bit  of  it!  Why,  if  I  feel  my  flirting 
ability  growing  rusty,  I  can  practise  on  the  Cub's 
elderly  paragon,  Mr.  Stead,  or  try  archaic  sentiment  on 
your  big  farmer  man  to  console  him  for  the  sweetheart 
who  has  not  yet  materiaHzed.  From  your  ardent 
written  descriptions  of  the  landscapes  about  here,  and 
the  important  places  he  always  fills  in  them,  it  seems 
to  me  that  he  must  be  at  least  a  straying  Walther  or 
a  prince  in  disguise,  seeking  to  be  loved  for  himself 
alone." 

"Mr.  Stead  will  probably  be  down  to-night,  so  that 
you  need  lose  no  time  in  beginning,"  Brooke  made 
answer,  flushing  hotly.  "We  four  have  been  playing 
whist  a  good  deal,  lately,  and  as  I  am  not  passionately 
fond  of  it,  you  shall  take  my  hand.  I  think  that  you  and 
he  wiU  prove  prettj'  evenly  matched  in  most  things. 
As  to  my  farmer,  as  you  absurdly  call  him,  you  had 
better  leave  him  alone,  —  it's  not  worth  while,  —  he 


THE  WAY  THE  WIND   BLEW  299 

might  misunderstand,  take  you  in  earnest,  and  em- 
barrass you."  Whereupon,  after  making  the  most 
cutting  speech  that  Lucy  had  ever  heard  from  her 
tongue,  she  turned  about  and  went  quietly  downstairs, 
saying  something  about  hurrying  supper,  as  Lucy  must 
be  hungry  as  well  as  tired. 

A  new  idea  came  to  Lucy,  bom  of  her  own  teasing 
words,  spoken  wholly  at  random  and  in  jest,  and  of 
Brooke's  flushing.  She  had  always  thought  Brooke 
wholly  an  idealist  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  and  that  what- 
ever emotion  she  had  ever  been  able  to  detect  had  been 
brought  out  by  the  artist  Lorenz  during  their  Paris 
sojourn.  When  it  had  apparently  ended  in  naught 
she  had  been  both  disappointed  and  glad,  the  latter 
especially  after  Adam  Lawton's  failure,  for  after  this 
she  had  desired  Brooke,  through  matrimony,  again  to 
have  the  luxury  and  chance  to  enjoy  her  art  that  she 
thought  her  friend  deserved. 

When  Charhe  Ashton  had  drawn  her  attention  to  the 
resemblance  to  Brooke  in  the  picture,  "Eucharistia," 
she  had  expected  developments,  but  now  that  nearly  six 
months  had  passed  she  regarded  the  thing  as  a  mere 
artistic  coincidence,  the  lingering  in  the  man's  memory, 
perhaps,  of  a  face  for  which  he  doubtless  had  a  passing 
fancy. 

Now  a  tangible  possibility  in  the  shape  of  Stead  came 
into  the  foreground.    Though  Lucy  had  not  seen  the 


3CX)  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

man,  the  Cub  had  given  him  a  glowing  recommendation. 
As  to  his  age, — Lucy  was  a  woman  of  experience, — fifty 
might  mean  many  things,  fatherly  or  otherwise,  and  the 
life  of  leisure  he  led  imphed  that  he  had  some  inde- 
pendent property.  Was  he  not  always  much  at  the 
house,  and  were  not  his  books  and  various  offerings 
scattered  about  everywhere,  even  at  her  first  visit? 
Brooke  had  written  of  horseback  rides  in  his  company. 
Surely  he  did  not  come  alone  out  of  respect  for  Mrs. 
Lawton  or  anxiety  about  the  Cub's  lessons.  Why 
had  Brooke  blushed  and  been  so  resentful? 

Lucy  sprang  up,  and  seizing  a  brush,  began  to  work 
at  her  hair  with  a  will,  until  the  colour  returned  to  her 
cheeks  and  the  glossy  dark  locks  wreathed  her  crown 
in  a  way  to  add  a  fascinating  air  of  maturity  to  her  arch 
face.  Then,  picking  out  the  most  dashing  waist  she 
had  brought,  having  merely  chosen  her  plainest  clothing, 
she  adjusted  it  over  a  long,  flowing  skirt  and  stood  sur- 
veying herself  for  a  moment,  saying  half  aloud,  "I  will 
look  at  Milor  Stead,  widower ;  if  he  is  a  good  possession 
for  little  Brooke,  so  be  it,  I  stand  aside ;  if  not,  I  inter- 
fere !"  and  then  a  softened  expression  followed  the  one 
that  Brooke's  semi-challenge  had  called  forth,  and  she 
added,  with  a  sigh,  "How  I  wish  Brooke  could  have 
some  one's  whole,  first,  fresh  love,  be  he  rich  or  poor! 
She  would  keep  it  and  live  and  die  for  it,  and  not  mar 
it  with  a  selfish  thought.    I  wonder  if  Charlie  is  right 


THE  WAY  THE  WIND   BLEW         301 

and  that  Tom  Brownell  is  trying  to  avoid  me  ?  Bah  1 
but  it  is  really  a  handicap  for  a  woman  to  have  a  rich 
father ;  the  money  lures  those  she  dislikes,  and  gives  the 
others  blind  staggers,  and  they  bolt  in  the  wrong 
direction." 

Two  minutes  later,  Lucy,  wholly  radiant,  was  pushing 
Adam  Lawton's  chair  in  to  supper,  and  insisting  that 
she  was  sure  that  he  recognized  her,  even  though  he 
could  not  speak  her  name,  while  the  Cub  changed  seats 
so  as  to  be  next  her  at  table,  and  Pam  insisted  upon 
sharing  the  somewhat  narrow  chair  by  wedging  herself 
between  Lucy  and  the  straight,  high  back. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LOCKS  AND  KEYS 

Ten  days  passed,  and  June  was  urging  the  growth 
of  flower  and  leaf  with  ardent  breath.  Even  in  the 
hill  country,  with  its  cool  nights  and  winds  that  rush 
down  the  river  valley,  the  days  were  sultry,  and  August 
lent  her  younger  sister  electric  batteries  for  her  relief; 
and  almost  every  afternoon  the  soft,  rounded  summer 
clouds  that  seemed  to  flock  about  Windy  Hill,  like 
pasturing  sheep,  were  put  to  flight  by  the  dun-edged 
thunder  scud  with  its  whips  of  lightning. 

Robert  Stead  had  now  gone  his  way  to  the  north- 
west at  his  friend's  request,  the  work  indoors  and  out 
had  settled  with  an  even  and  soothing  monotony  over 
the  West  farm,  while  the  Sign  of  the  Fox  and  its  fame 
were  already  reUeving  Brooke's  anxiety  as  to  the  imme- 
diate future. 

As  Lucy  paced  to  and  fro  along  the  neatly  gravelled 
walks  of  the  old-fashioned  garden,  where  the  Cub  was 
engaged  in  "brushing"  the  long  Hne  of  sweet  peas,  a 
vocation  requiring  a  knack  that  he  did  not  possess, 
it   seemed   to  her  that   two  months,  instead  of   two 

302 


LOCKS  AND  KEYS  303 

weeks,  had  passed  since  her  coming.  Not  that  she 
was  in  any  way  bored  or  discontented,  rather  did  it 
seem  as  if  she  had  always  been  a  part  of  the  house- 
hold and  Uving  her  normal  Ufe,  while  the  revelation, 
indoors  and  out,  of  work  done  by  personal  service, 
instead  of  by  money  proxy,  had  given  her  active  brain 
much  food  for  thought  of  a  new  though  baffling  order. 

In  many  other  ways  also  did  Lucy  feel  herself  baffled. 
Upon  Robert  Stead  she  had  failed  to  make  the  slightest 
impression,  either  during  the  half-dozen  calls  he  had 
made  at  the  farm,  or  upon  a  ride  she  had  taken  in  his 
company  to  his  lodge  on  Windy  Hill,  when  he  had 
invited  Mrs.  Lawton  and  Brooke  to  see  his  garden 
and  some  prints  of  old  masters  that  they  had  been 
discussing.  The  Cub  being  busy,  Brooke  had  driven 
her  mother  in  the  buggy  with  old  Billy,  and  Stead, 
who  had  ridden  down  with  an  extra  saddle-horse  in 
tow,  had  accompanied  Lucy  back. 

Not  that  he  was  discourteous ;  quite  the  contrary.  He 
was  the  poUshed  man  of  the  world,  always  polite,  with 
a  pretty  comphment,  too  well-rounded  for  spontaneity, 
upon  his  lips  and  plenty  of  intelligent  conversation, 
as  well  as  chink-filling  small  talk  that  prevented  danger- 
ous pauses,  yet  withal  he  was  inscrutable. 

Hardly  less  so  did  Lucy  find  Brooke  herself;  perfectly 
free  and  frank  in  their  daily  intercourse,  yet  she  neither 
offered  nor  asked  special  confidence.    She  brightened 


304  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

with  all  the  charm  of  a  bom  hostess  when  Stead  came 
and  he  gravitated  toward  her  as  naturally;  yet  when 
he  left,  even  for  six  weeks'  stay,  she  exhibited  no  sign 
of  loneliness  and  threw  herself  into  her  play,  which 
she  called  the  few  hours  she  seized  for  painting,  with 
fresh  vigour,  either  working  in  the  old  carpenter's 
shop,  that  by  opening  a  trap  door  above  had  a  fine 
north  light,  or  going  into  the  open  fields  to  use  Enoch 
Fenton's  colts,  sheep,  or  oxen  as  studies. 

It  was  not  strange,  however,  that  Lucy  could  not 
fathom  the  mind  of  either  maid  or  man,  for  did  they 
really  know  themselves?  Stead  was  experiencing  the 
conscious  coming  of  a  second  youth,  even  before  he  was 
more  than  in  the  full  vigour  of  middle  life.  The  period 
of  torpor  through  which  he  had  passed  was  much  hke 
the  indifference  and  languid,  brooding  time  of  ado- 
lescence before  the  bite  of  motive  and  passion  awakens 
body  and  brain  and  clears  the  vision ;  and  it  was  Brooke 
who  blamelessly  had  brought  all  this  to  pass,  Brooke, 
with  her  heroism  of  womanhood  that  was  none  the 
less  subtle  and  acute  because  of  its  elusiveness. 

Robert  Stead  loved  her  as  a  man  loves  but  once, 
no  matter  how  often  he  may  marry,  but  this  second 
passion  was  so  different  in  its  elements  from  the  first 
that  he  did  not  recognize  it  as  such,  and  consequently, 
unchecked,  it  doubled  its  hold,  even  while  Lucy  was 
unable  to  put  two  and  two  together,  and  piece  a  single 
palpable  symptom. 


LOCKS  AND  KEYS  305 

In  a  state  of  rebellion  bordering  on  disgust,  Lucy, 
who  heretofore  had  been  the  sort  of  woman  that  had 
usually  obtained  anything  for  which  she  had  cared  to 
try,  and  much  for  which  she  had  not  striven,  turned 
her  attention  to  the  farmer-on-shares,  —  Walther,  as 
she  called  him,  who  was  undoubtedly  a  most  filling 
and  picturesque  figure  in  the  perfect  series  of  pictures 
that  grouped  themselves  between  the  homestead  and 
the  Moosatuk,  —  to  find  him  not  only  difficult  but 
impossible  of  approach,  and  try  as  she  might,  she 
had  not  yet  succeeded  in  exchanging  a  word  with  him. 
At  the  same  time  many  of  his  doings  puzzled  her, 
for  though  he  was  entirely  his  own  master,  by  the 
very  nature  of  the  half-and-half  agreement,  and  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  home  garden  or  aught  else 
about  the  place,  his  whole  desire  seemed  to  be  of  use 
and  to  serve  its  occupants,  though  unobtrusively. 

It  had  been  only  a  few  mornings  after  her  arrival 
that  Lucy,  just  at  dawn,  looking  out  of  one  of  hei 
windows  (which  overlooked  the  back  of  the  house, 
Brooke's  having  wholly  a  river  view),  discovered  the 
big  fellow  setting  out  a  quantity  of  seedling  asters, 
a  task  that  Brooke  had  begun  the  afternoon  before, 
and  darkness  had  stopped  when  half  accomplished 
Did  Brooke  know  of  it,  she  wondered. 

Again,  at  the  same  hour,  she  saw  him,  hands  encased 
in  great  leather  mittens,  uprooting  the  vigorous  poison 


3o6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

ivy  and  tearing  it  from  the  pasture  fences,  and  at 
once  she  remembered  that  Brooke  bore  the  crusty 
bum  of  contact  with  it  on  one  hand. 

The  Cub  now  and  again  remarked  that  Maarten 
was  a  brick  and  helped  him  out  of  lots  of  tight  corners, 
without  even  a  hint  being  given,  and  Lucy  wondered 
if  Brooke  saw  or  understood;  apparently  she  did 
neither,  and  yet  the  very  day  after  the  Cub  had  thrown 
down  his  armful  of  pea-brush  in  disgust  at  the  tottering, 
inebriate  line  that  rewarded  his  best  efforts,  the  brush 
appeared  all  set  in  place,  standing  like  an  evenly  trimmed 
hedge,  attractive  in  its  neatness,  aside  from  the  crop 
of  fragrant  promise  that  already  was  beginning  to 
finger  the  support  cHngingly  with  its  tendrils. 

But  how  was  it  with  Brooke  herself?  If  it  is  true 
that  filial  love  or  work  in  sufficiency  can  fill  life  to  the 
brim,  then  hers  was  full  to  overflowing;  yet  this  is  not 
all,  —  work,  to  be  the  heaven  it  may  be  at  its  best, 
demands  that  the  heart  be  satisfied. 

Lorenz  she  had  known  less  as  a  man  than  as  an 
idealist,  and  it  was  this  side  of  his  nature  that  she  loved, 
together  with  his  respectful  yet  truth-speaking  attitude. 
Then  came  the  mystic  picture,  bringing  with  it  to  fan 
the  naturally  kindled  flame  the  knowledge  that  he 
remembered !  No  further  word  had  come  from  him 
since  the  verse  of  Sisyphus  that  she  had  answered 
merely  by  a  spray  of  arbutus  blossom,  the  New  Eng- 


LOCKS  AND  KEYS  307 

land  flower  of  spring  hope,  shining  through  melting 
snow.    Could  he  interpret  it?    Perhaps  not. 

Sometimes  a  sense  of  the  unreaUty  of  it  all  and  the 
dream  stuff  it  was  made  of  came  over  Brooke,  and 
she  wondered  if  the  spell  would  hold  or  if  the  separa- 
tion was  not  more  sweet  than  the  reaUty;  but  this 
mood  never  lasted  long. 

Of  the  patient  service  of  the  farmer-on-shares  she 
could  no  longer  be  ignorant,  nor  of  the  fact  that  he  drew 
her  eyes  toward  the  landscape  of  which  he  had  come 
to  be  an  inseparable  part.  Unwittingly  she  found 
herself  watching  him  day  by  day,  though  usually  as  a 
mere  speck  in  the  distance.  At  such  times  she  was 
bewildered,  and  trembled  at  herself.  Was  it  the  poise 
of  his  head,  and  an  occasional  gesture  as  he  stepped 
back  to  look  at  something  that  he  had  done,  that  re- 
minded her  of  Lorenz  and  confused  the  two  identities 
for  the  moment,  or  had  the  strain  of  the  long  winter 
of  struggling  warped  her  brain? 

Brooke  was  no  analyst  who  had  made  the  mental 
dissipation  of  the  dissection  of  motives  take  the  place 
of  natural  emotion.  The  ideal  of  her  nature  had  its 
outlet;  why  not  then  the  real?  It  was  the  natural 
man  in  Maarten  that  drew  her,  something  beneath 
the  surface,  obliterating  the  bands  of  caste  and  the 
social  grades  that  divided  their  normal  positions, 
though  for  that,  except  for  her  father's  disastrous  city 


3o8  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

career,  she  was  equally  bom  a  child  of  the  soil  and 
its  heredities. 

She  avoided  the  hayfields,  now  swept  by  the  June 
snow-storm  of  daisies,  and  in  spite  of  success  and  her 
friend's  companionship,  was  truly  miserable  for  the 
first  time,  for  she  could  neither  understand  nor  throw 
off  the  spell  she  felt  upon  her.  Self-respect  is  not 
obUvion,  and  is  but  a  chilly  comforter  for  youth. 

The  frequent  thunder-showers  had  forced  a  new 
necessity  upon  the  Sign  of  the  Fox.  An  open  shed 
at  least  must  be  had  to  protect  vehicles  that  needed 
cover,  while  their  occupants  were  sheltered  by  either 
screened  porch  or  welcomed  in  the  neat  kitchen  itself; 
so  that  an  old  lumber  room  in  the  cow  bam  had  been 
cleared,  and  furnished  with  rings  for  tying  up,  the  drivers 
upon  the  upper  road  being  chiefly  of  horses;  for  the 
chauffeur  avoided  the  steep,  uneven  hills,  which  jarred 
the  constitution  of  the  car  of  Juggernaut  unpleasantly, 
even  in  the  downward  trip. 

It  chanced  a  little  before  this  time  that  a  party  of 
young  fellows,  headed  by  Charlie  Ashton,  in  his  big 
Mercedes  touring  car,  built  for  long-distance  runs,  had 
started  for  Gordon,  where  they  were  in  demand  for 
a  tennis  tournament.  Ashton's  chauffeur  turning  ill 
and  unfit  at  the  last  moment,  they  had  beat  about, 
and  discussed  the  possibility  of  substituting  one  of  their 
number  for  the  professional,  as  they  all  had  more  or 


LOCKS  AND  KEYS  309 

less  experience ;  and  the  lot  had  fallen  to  Tom  Brownell, 
who  had  joined  the  party  for  a  brief  vacation,  at  the  end 
of  which  he  was  to  take  the  position  of  city  editor  of 
the  Daily  Forum,  a  well-earned  promotion  for  which 
his  gift  of  discerning  the  true  from  the  merely  sensa- 
tional peciUiarly  fitted  him. 

Brownell  knew  from  Ashton  that  the  Lawtons  were 
located  somewhere  on  the  route  they  were  to  take, 
and  ever  since  his  first  maladroit  interview  with  Brooke 
he  had  desired  to  be  of  some  service  to  her,  that  should 
atone  for  his  blunder. 

The  pair  of  keys  on  which  he  had  stepped  that  day 
in  leaving  the  apartment  had  always  remained,  as  it 
were,  before  his  eyes,  and  after  learning  all  possible 
details  of  the  Lawton  failure  from  many  sources,  he  felt 
doubly  convinced  that,  if  these  keys  were  placed,  they 
might  solve  at  least  one  of  the  many  questions  un- 
answered because  of  Mr.  Lawton's  illness.  He  had 
therefore  asked  Lucy  Dean  to  get  them  if  possible  — 
which  she  had  done. 

Two  months  of  following  the  faint  trail  furnished 
by  two  thin  keys  merely  bearing  numbers  but  not  even 
the  initials  of  their  makers,  had  at  last  brought  about 
a  certain  result  which  might  or  might  not  be  satisfactory, 
but  at  least  warranted  him  in  seeing  Brooke,  and  telUng 
her  of  his  progress ;  and  this  was  one  of  his  many  motives 
of  touring  to  Gordon. 


3IO  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

He  knew,  from  Lucy  herself,  that  the  Lawtons  were 
located  in  the  vicinity  of  Gilead,  and  inquired  the  nearest 
way  to  the  homestead,  when  they  reached  the  village 
late  in  the  afternoon.  On  learning  that  it  was  on 
the  hill  road,  and  as  the  machine  he  was  driving  had 
had  two  temper  fits  within  the  hour,  Brownell  side- 
tracked it  in  a  pleasant  spot  on  the  lower  road,  and 
leaving  his  companions  to  spend  an  hour  with  their 
pipes  and  the  liquid  remains  of  their  luncheon,  he 
started  afoot  up  the  cross-road. 

There  had  been  many  people  stopping  for  tea  at 
the  Sign  of  the  Fox  that  afternoon;  in  fact,  the  last 
trap  was  only  leaving  as  Brownell  turned  the  comer, 
being  that  of  Mrs.  Parks,  who  dined  at  eight  on  purpose 
to  have  the  sunset  hours  for  driving,  —  a  performance 
that  the  Senator  could  not  understand. 

Brownell  hesitated  a  moment,  as  many  others  had 
done,  as  to  which  door,  front  or  side,  was  the  more 
direct  entrance,  and  deciding  upon  the  latter,  turned 
the  comer  of  the  house  and  took  the  cobbled  path 
that  ran  between  the  prim  box  bushes  toward  the  kitchen 
door.  As  he  passed  under  the  window  of  the  little 
library,  the  sound  of  a  voice  inside  made  him  stop  as 
abmptly  as  if  a  detaining  hand  had  been  laid  on  his 
shoulder.  "They  are  at  Coronado,  —  the  engage- 
ment is  announced,  —  they  are  to  be  married  imme- 
diately, and  instead  of  coming  home  with  the  party 


LOCKS  AND  KEYS  311 

go  on  to  Vancouver  and  Alaska.  Father  can  no  longer 
be  my  all  in  all,  yet  there  is  no  one  to  take  his  place !" 
were  the  words  the  voice  uttered  dehberately,  with  an 
accent  half  mocking,  yet  with  an  undercurrent  of  sad- 
ness to  one  who  understood. 

Standing  on  tiptoe  for  one  brief  moment,  Brownell 
saw  Lucy  Dean's  clear-cut  face  through  the  shielding 
vines;  it  was  turned  away  from  the  window,  and  she 
continued  speaking  to  some  one  whom  he  could  not  see, 
but  easily  divined  was  Brooke  herself. 

Recovering  his  power  of  motion  as  quickly  as  he 
had  lost  it,  Brownell  darted  down  the  lane  toward 
the  bam,  and  opening  the  door  of  the  first  outbuilding 
that  he  reached,  sprang  in,  closing  it  quickly  behind 
him  with  a  heedless  bang,  in  all  the  guilty  trepidation 
of  some  peeping  Tom  in  fear  of  justice.  In  reality 
the  being  that  Brownell  most  feared  at  that  moment 
was  himself,  as  rendered  illogical,  helpless,  and  oblivious 
of  even  the  carefully  planned  work  of  his  life,  when  in 
close  proximity  to  Lucy  Dean.  If  she  turned  and  saw 
him,  he  knew  himself  lost,  so  that  inmiediate  flight  was 
the  only  hope  left. 

From  the  moment  he  had  first  met  her  Brownell  had 
admired  her  stanch  friendship  for  Brooke,  while  her 
buoyant  and  frank  audacity  had  soon  fairly  swept 
him  ofE  his  feet.  He  had  gone  to  the  Dean  house  many 
times,  it  is  true,  half  because  not  to  do  so  would  have 


312  AT  THE   SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

been  brutally  rude,  half  fluttering,  moth-in-the-candle 
fashion  and  courting  a  singeing,  until  in  the  close 
companionship  of  the  six  weeks'  journey  that  had 
been  proposed,  he  saw  that  he  would  not  only  be  at  bay, 
but  completely  at  the  mercy  of  that  most  uncertain 
of  quantities,  the  motherless  daughter  of  an  influential 
and  wealthy  man. 

As  an  institution  he  had  no  quarrel  with  matrimony, 
—  simply  it  had  no  place  at  present  in  his  somewhat 
altruistic  plan  of  work.  He  did  not  wish  either  to 
love  or  to  marry;  to  see  Lucy  had  cast  him  into  the 
former  state,  and  caused  matrimony  to  fill  the  entire 
vista. 

What  had  he  to  offer  —  that  is,  financially?  Even 
with  his  promotion  he  could  little  more  than  compete 
with  her  father's  chef.  Of  himself  he  had  but  an  indif- 
ferent opinion,  which  was  unwise,  merely  his  ambitions 
were  so  far  ahead  of  his  achievements  that  he  measured 
his  shortcomings  by  the  discrepancy. 

That  Lucy  delighted  to  compete  with  him  in  a  sort 
of  game  that  Brooke  had  called  "truth  telling"  he 
knew,  also  that  in  some  way  he  seemed  to  stimulate 
her  wit;  but  that  there  was  a  grain  of  sentiment  in 
her  practical,  and  what  people  thought  somewhat  hard, 
nature,  he  never  for  a  moment  dreamed.  Therefore, 
knowing  that  if  he  saw  her  often  the  moment  would 
come  when  from  his  own  standpoint  he  must  become 


LOCKS  AND  KEYS  313 

ridiculous  in  her  eyes,  he  had  escaped  from  the  over- 
land trip,  as  he  now  sought  to  escape  the  sudden  and 
unexpected  meeting  by  flight. 

It  would  soon  be  dusk,  and  he  could  slip  back  to  his 
companions  unseen,  make  some  easy  excuse  for  not 
having  called,  and  tell  Brooke  of  his  partial  discovery 
by  letter.  This  flashed  through  his  mind  as  the  door 
closed.  At  the  same  time  he  looked  about  the  building 
that  he  had  entered,  to  see  if  it  had  another  exit,  and 
discovered  it  to  be  a  poultry  house,  the  well-white- 
washed perches  of  which  were  crowded  by  mature, 
experienced  hens,  each  wing-capped  for  the  night. 
In  the  uncertain  Ught  he  made  a  misstep  on  the  uneven 
ground,  compounded  of  ashes  and  broken  Ume,  that 
formed  the  floor,  which  sent  him  reehng  into  the  midst  of 
the  feathered  multitude,  and  as  he  grasped  a  perch 
to  save  himself  from  roUing  in  the  dust,  he  shook  off 
the  portly  sleepers.  A  perfect  babel  of  hen  alarm 
arose  as  the  frightened  ladies  flew  in  his  face  and 
lodged  on  his  arms  and  shoulders  in  their  useless  flight. 

"Be  still,"  he  called  in  a  husky  voice;  "for  heaven's 
sake  don't  raise  such  a  devil  of  a  row  —  they  will  take 
me  for  a  rat  or  a  weasel  at  the  very  least,  and  set  the 
dogs  on  me,"  and  then  he  laughed  when  he  realized 
upon  what  unintelligent  scatterbrains  his  words  had 
fallen.  The  windows,  all  too  small  for  retreat,  were 
also  netted.    There  was  but  one  door,  so  finally,  getting 


314  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

his  bearings,  he  made  a  dive  for  that,  only  to  find  it 
firmly  fastened  by  Miss  Keith's  anti-chicken-thief 
spring  lock !  They  say  love  laughs  at  locksmiths,  but 
bitter  satire !  when  before  had  the  device  of  one  of  the 
craft  imprisoned  a  man  flying  love,  in  a  fowl  house? 
Folding  his  arms,  with  shoulders  squared  and  jaw 
set,  Brownell  waited.  Already  he  heard  the  barking 
of  a  dog,  women's  voices,  and  steps  upon  the  porch  of 
the  house.    Could  any  position  be  more  preposterous? 

Lucy  had  finished  reading  her  letter,  and  stood  in 
the  porch,  watching  a  catbird's  fantastic  wooing  as 
it  paused  in  the  midst  of  an  impassioned  song  to  jeer, 
expostulate,  coax,  and  protest  all  in  a  breath,  now 
raising  itself  tiptoe  on  an  ecstatic  high  note,  and  then 
languishing  until  it  seemed  to  melt  into  the  bushes. 
Every  other  bird  loses  self-consciousness  and  pours 
his  heart  out  in  the  love  time,  the  catbird  never;  and 
yet  its  compelling  fascination  lies  in  that  it  is  always 
itself. 

Lucy  laughed  softly  as  she  watched  the  feathered 
pair,  and  said  to  Tatters,  who  stood  beside  her,  "Do 
you  know,  old  fellow,  I  think  if  any  one  wooes  me,  he 
will  have  to  do  it  all  in  a  breath,  and  after  hypnotiz- 
ing me  by  his  rattling,  like  that  bird  yonder,  secure 
my  hand  and  heart  before  I  wake.  How  I  wish  I 
were  that  lady  bird  this  very  minute,  having  all  this 


LOCKS  AND  KEYS  315 

fuss  made  for  me,  and  sitting  perfectly  composed  in 
a  bush  without  a  thought  to  spare  for  my  trousseau!" 

Tatters'  answer  was  a  low  growl,  and  then  a  series 
of  quick  barks  as  the  hubbub  in  the  hennery  began. 

"I  think  something  is  stirring  up  your  poultry; 
shall  I  go  and  see?"  Lucy  called,  going  around  under 
Brooke's  window,  for  the  latter  had  gone  up  to  rest 
a  few  moments  after  a  tiresome  afternoon. 

"I  guess  the  hens  have  only  fallen  off  their  perches, 
and  are  frightened,"  Brooke  answered,  coming  to  the 
window;  "they  often  do,  the  sillies.  It  cannot  be  rats 
or  weasels,  for  that  is  not  Tatters'  animal  bark,  —  that 
tone  means  a  man,  and  no  one  would  be  so  foolish 
as  to  come  prowling  before  dark." 

Lucy  continued  to  watch  the  catbird,  but  on  the 
noise  recommencing,  Tatters  growled  again,  and  leaving 
the  porch,  nose  to  ground,  skirted  the  library  window, 
went  to  the  gate,  returned,  stood  under  the  window 
for  a  second  with  bristling  hair,  and  then,  leading 
straight  to  the  fowl  house,  began  tearing  at  the  door. 

Interested  in  his  tactics,  and  thinking  the  intruder 
nothing  worse  than  a  prowling  cat,  Lucy  threw  the 
skirt  of  her  flowered  dimity  over  her  arm  and  crossed 
the  garden  to  the  lane. 

"Quiet,  Tatters,  quiet!"  she  cautioned,  patting 
his  head;  "you  must  let  me  attend  to  this;  dogs  are 
not  allowed  in  fowl  houses,  they  have  been  known  to 


ji6  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

produce  heart  disease  in  susceptible  young  pullets. 
Sit  down  and  watch  out!" 

Touching  the  spring,  she  released  the  latch,  and 
opening  the  door  cautiously,  lest  any  fowls  escape, 
she  peered  in,  thus  coming  instantly  face  to  face  with 
the  caged  man !  The  shock  for  a  moment  made  her 
lose  her  poise,  and  she  almost  tottered  as  she  cried, 
"Tom  Brownell!" 

At  the  same  time  Tatters,  seeing  the  strange  man, 
sprang  forward,  and  to  keep  him  back  Lucy  stepped 
inside  the  sill-less  door;  his  weight  as  he  sprung  closed 
it  with  a  snap,  making  her  in  turn  a  prisoner. 

"  I  thought  you  were  in  New  York !  What  are  you 
doing  here?"  she  flashed,  regaining  her  poise  and 
colour  at  the  same  time. 

"And  I  thought  that  you  were  in  California,"  re- 
torted Brownell,  carelessly,  hands  in  pockets,  holding 
sentiment  down  hard. 

"Then  you  did  not  come  here  to  see  me?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  came  to  see  Miss  Lawton ! 
Are  you  usually  to  be  found  in  chicken  houses?" 

"Ah,  she  is,  then?  Suppose,  as  we  must  put  up 
with  each  other's  society  until  Tatters  leads  Brooke 
to  our  rescue,  that  we  play  the  truth  game  to  kill  time, 
—  you  know  that  truth  can  be  trusted  to  kill  almost 
anything  nowadays ;  I  will  ask  the  first  question.  Did 
you  give  up  the  California  trip  because  you  wished  to 
avoid  me?" 


LOCKS  AND  KEYS  317 

"Yes,  but  not  in  exactly  the  way —  Yes,  I  did," 
this  with  an  emphatic  nod. 

"It  is  my  turn.    Why  did  you  not  go  to  California?" 

"Because  —  because — "  and  the  eloquent  Lucy 
became  suddenly  tongue-tied. 

"Because  of  a  prospective  stepmother,  was  it  not?" 
assisted  Brownell,  feeUng  an  instant  warmth  about 
his  heart,   as  her  defiance  relaxed. 

"  No,  it  was  because  you  were  not  going  —  that  is, 
because  my  feeUngs,  my  pride,  were  hurt,"  and  again 
she  raised  her  head  with  a  defiant  glance,  adding 
hastily,  "Now  my  turn.  Why  did  you  wish  to  see 
Brooke,  and  if  you  came  to  see  her,  why  are  you  found 
hiding  in  the  fowl  house?" 

"I  came  because  I  have  learned  something  about 
those  mysterious  keys.  They  belong  to  a  box  in  a 
little-known  safe  deposit  company  in  Brooklyn,  and 
the  name  of  the  lessee  is  not  Lawton;  further,  they 
would  not,  tell  me,  nor  can  I  go  on  without  some  aid 
from  the  family.  Does  this  errand  meet  with  your 
approval?" 

"Then  the  keys  do  belong  to  something!  Come 
quick,  Brooke,  let  us  out  and  hear  the  news!"  called 
Lucy,  pounding  on  the  door;  but  no  response  came, 
—  only  a  growl,  not  from  Tatters,  but  from  the  unseon 
thunder-shower  that  was,  as  usual,  making  its  way 
over  Windy  HiU. 


3i8  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"As  to  your  last  question,"  continued  Brownell, 
without  heeding  the  interruption,  "I  was  passing  a 
window  on  the  way  to  the  side  door  when  I  heard 
a  familiar  voice  reading  a  letter.  One  look  confirmed 
my  suspicion,  and,  like  a  wise  brute  in  danger,  I  made 
for  the  nearest  cover,  not  expecting  to  be  made  a 
prisoner,  but  to  get  off  unseen!" 

"Why  do  you  avoid  me?  What  have  I  done  to 
make  you  hate  me  so?"  Lucy  almost  whispered, 
a  little  break  creeping  into  her  voice  that  made  Brownell 
start  forward. 

"  Why  ?  Because  a  sane  man  usually  avoids  a  danger 
of  which  he  has  had  many  warnings.  Don't  look  at 
me  like  that,  Lucy,  and  for  God's  sake  take  your  hand 
off  my  shoulder,  or  you'll  make  me  forget  my  self- 
respect  and  let  myself  go,  only  to  be  mocked  by  a 
woman!" 

But  Lucy  did  not  move  her  eyes  or  her  hand,  while 
its  mate  stole  to  his  other  shoulder. 

"Talking  of  self-respect,"  she  said  slowly,  but  with 
an  indescribable  tender  archness  of  accent,  "why 
do  you  wish  to  make  me  lose  mine  by  forcing  me  to 
throw  myself  into  your  arms?  See,  I  am  braver  than 
you,  I  do  not  fear  to  be  mocked  by  a  man !" 

"Lucy!" 

"Tom!" 

Those  were  the  only  two  intelligible  words  of  the 


LOCKS  AND  KEYS  319 

rush  that  followed,  but  even  the  catbird  in  the  syringa 
bush,  had  his  eye  and  ear  been  turned  that  way,  might 
have  taken  a  lesson  in  rapid  and  complete  wooing 
and  winning. 

A  patter  of  rain  on  the  roof,  another  growl,  and  a 
flash  caused  Brooke  to  hasten  out  to  the  porch  to 
look  for  her  friend,  while  Tatters  still  barked  and 
clawed  at  the  door  of  the  poultry  house.  Opening 
the  door,  she  spied  Lucy,  who,  for  the  moment,  had 
pushed  Brownell  into  the  darkness  behind  her. 

"So  you  looked  for  cats  and  weasels,  and  the  door 
slammed  on  you!"  she  cried,  dragging  Lucy  out  by 
the  wrist,  and  brushing  away  the  whitewash  that 
powdered  her  dark  hair.  "Hurry  back  to  the  house, 
for  you  know  that  neither  one  of  us  has  a  love  of 
thunder-storms !" 

"You  were  right,  Brooke,  it  was  not  Tatters'  animal 
bark, — it  was  a  man  that  frightened  the  fowls," 
answered  Lucy,  still  holding  back. 

"A  man!  Then  why  do  you  stay  out  here  in  the 
dusk?  Who  was  it?  You  are  laughing,  —  it  must 
have  been  Adam  playing  a  trick  on  us!" 

"Adam !  Oh,  no,  it  is  the  man  I  am  going  to  marry ! 
Brooke  Lawton  —  Tom  Brownell !  I  believe,  by  the 
way,  you  have  never  before  been  properly  introduced !" 
and  the  next  flash  saw  three  figures,  followed  by  a  joyous 
dog,  scudding  toward  the  house  under  a  burst  of  rain. 

*  ^f  Mf  Hf  *  Hi  Ht 


320         AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

While  the  storm  raged  it  was  impossible  either  for 
Brownell  to  regain  his  companions  or  to  communicate 
with  them  in  any  way,  while  the  probabiUties  pointed 
to  the  chance  of  their  having  returned  to  Bisbee's  stable 
for  shelter  at  the  first  signs  of  the  storm. 

At  the  supper  table  Lucy's  radiance  was  so  dazzling 
that  no  one  could  pretend  to  ignore  it.  The  Cub, 
to  whom  Brownell  was  of  course  a  stranger,  was  inclined 
to  be  resentful  and  clumsily  sarcastic,  but  as  the  elder 
man  had  both  tact  and  magnetism,  he  speedily  con- 
cluded that  it  was  better  to  have  a  new  friend  than 
an  unnecessary  enemy.  Mrs.  Lawton  and  Miss  Keith 
were  made  partakers  of  the  news  by  mere  inference 
before  the  formal  words  were  spoken,  and  Brownell 
at  once  became  a  friend  of  the  family,  even  before 
the  matter  of  the  keys  and  his  diligence  in  their  interest 
came  up.  Brownell  took  the  bits  of  metal  from  his 
pocket  and  laid  them  on  the  table  beside  him,  as  he 
told  of  his  idea  that,  being  paired  and  of  the  type 
that  is  used  by  safety-vault  companies,  they  might  in 
some  way  be  connected  with  the  personal  belongings 
of  Mrs.  Lawton  and  Brooke;  how  that  by  chance  he 
had  seen  keys  of  a  similar  pattern  in  the  pocket  of 
a  friend,  but,  in  locating  the  company,  had  found  the 
name  given  by  the  man  renting  the  box  to  be  West 
and  not  Lawton ! 

"That  was  grandmother's  maiden  name,  and  this 


LOCKS  AND  KEYS  321 

is  the  West  homestead,"  said  Brooke,  in  a  tense  whisper. 
"The  keys  must  have  something  to  do  with  father  and 
all  of  us,  if  we  can  only  fathom  how ! " 

"If  West  is  a  family  name,  the  rest  must  unravel 
in  time,"  said  Brownell,  looking  eagerly  toward  Adam 
Lawton,  who,  sitting  as  usual  in  his  wheel-chair  at 
the  foot  of  the  table,  had  turned  sHghtly  toward  the 
young  man,  idly  fingering  the  keys,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  distance. 

The  circular  storm,  that  had  veered  off  for  a  time, 
now  returned  with  renewed  fury.  Pam  jumped  into 
Lucy's  lap  and  hid  her  head  under  the  table-cloth. 
Miss  Keith  fled  to  her  room  and  bounced  into  the 
middle  of  her  feather-bed,  to  "keep  her  feet  off  the 
floor,"  as  she  said.  Lucy  held  Tom  tightly  by  the  hand, 
while  even  Mrs.  Lawton  and  Brooke  grew  pale  and 
the  Cub  feigned  an  indifference  that  he  was  far  from 
feeling,  for  the  effect  of  the  air  charged  with  electricity 
was  palpable  and  not  to  be  ignored. 

There  came  a  moment  when  a  series  of  explosions 
followed  one  another  like  pistol  shots,  next  a  scathing 
flash  and  a  deafening  report,  and  at  the  same  instant 
a  sound  of  ripping  and  tearing  in  front  of  the  house, 
while  a  sulphurous  odour  filled  the  room. 

Tatters,  who  was  huddled  close  to  Brooke,  raised 
his  head  and  gave  a  weird  howl,  and  for  a  moment 
no  one  had  either  power  of  speech  or  motion. 

Y 


322  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Brownell  was  the  first  to  recover,  and  going  quickly 
to  the  front  door,  he  threw  it  open  and  looked  out. 
The  giant  button-baU  inside  the  fence  was  spHt  from 
crown  to  trunk,  and  great  twisted  spUnters  littered  the 
short  grass;  but  the  old  pine,  holding  the  Sign  of  the 
Fox  upon  one  of  its  gnarled  arms,  stood  safe  and  intact 
like  a  good  omen. 

"Look  at  father!"  were  Brooke's  first  words,  spoken 
as  BrowneU  returned,  and  the  entire  group  about 
the  table  watched  him  in  wonder. 

At  the  flash  his  eyes  had  closed  and  a  tremor  passed 
over  him,  but  when  he  opened  them  again,  a  new  in- 
telligence was  there.  Slowly  he  looked  about;  then, 
noticing  the  keys,  that  had  remained  between  his 
fingers,  he  clasped  them  tightly  with  an  exclamation 
of  satisfaction,  and,  turning  toward  his  wife,  who  had 
drawn  close  to  his  chair,  said  slowly,  with  perfect 
articulation,  yet  hesitatingly,  as  if  each  word  suggested 
its  neighbour:  "Mela,  here  are  those  keys  of  the 
new  box  that  I  hired  to-day  to  hold  your  little  belongings. 
I  —  seem  —  to  —  have  —  dreamed  —  that  I  —  lost  — 
them !  I  may  have  a  business  ordeal  —  to  go  through 
—  and  what  little  belongs  to  you  —  and  —  daughter 
must  be  put  apart  —  in  —  safety.  I  took  —  this  —  in 
the  name  —  of  Adam  West,  and  to-morrow  Brooke 
must  go  —  also  —  to  be  recognized —  Where  am  I? 
how  —  did  I  come  here  at  the  old  home?"    Slipping 


LOCKS  AND  KEYS  323 

from  her  chair,  Brooke  went  to  her  mother,  and  gently, 
each  holding  a  hand,  they  wheeled  the  chair  back  to 
the  familiar  bedroom,  so  that  neither  place  nor  people 
should  cause  the  return  of  memory  to  rush  too  swiftly 
and  overtax  itself.  Brooke  left  her  father  and  mother 
together  there,  and  going  to  the  Hbrary,  wrote  a  brief 
note  to  Dr.  Russell,  asking  his  guidance  in  this  new 
crisis  that  might  mean  so  much  or  so  little. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  RETURN  OF  MEMORY 

Of  the  household  at  the  homestead,  one  heart  sank 
instead  of  rejoicing,  at  the  first  sign  of  the  return  of 
memory  to  Adam  Lawton.  This  one  bumped  pain- 
fully in  the  chest  of  the  Cub,  as,  leaving  the  room  un- 
noticed, with  face  pale  as  it  had  not  been  for  months, 
and  unheeding  the  flapping  sheets  of  rain  that  smote 
and  enveloped  at  the  same  moment,  he  fled  to  the 
bam  and  threw  himself  with  head  buried  in  his  arms 
on  the  dwindling  haymow  that  had  once  sheltered  the 
little  fox. 

Poor  Cub,  with  the  first  perfectly  lucid  utterance  of 
his  father  all  the  old  cringing  dread  had  returned,  and 
his  manhood  again  struggled  with  the  fear  that  he  had 
believed  dead.  This,  also,  after  five  months  of  proving 
the  stuff  of  which  he  was  made  by  bitter,  patient  toil, 
until  day  by  day  the  warring  elements  were  adjusting, 
the  jangling  grew  fainter,  and  at  each  hammer  touch  of 
experience  the  metal  rang  more  true.  If  Adam  Lawton 
could  have  realized  this,  and  seen  his  boy  with  unbiassed 
clearness,  the  loss  of  money  and  Ufe  itself  would  have 

324 


THE  RETURN  OF  MEMORY  325 

been  nothing  to  the  bitterness  that  would  have  come 
to  him  as  the  results  of  his  arbitrary  attitude. 

The  Cub  need  not  have  trembled.  Remember 
whatever  Adam  Lawton  might,  a  law  of  hfe  had  been 
broken  and  their  positions  were  reversed,  the  leader  must 
be  led,  the  dictator  of  another's  free-bom  will  must  be 
protected,  gently  dealt  with,  guarded  from  trouble, 
loved  pitywise,  but  never  would  he  square  his  shoulders 
to  the  world  and  give  and  take.  Can  worse  irony  of 
fate  come  to  any  man  who  has  really  Uved? 

An  hour  after  the  electric  bolt  had  riven  the  plane 
tree  planted  as  a  landmark  by  the  first  West,  and  by  its 
mystic  influence  cleared  Adam  Lawton's  brain,  the 
warm  June  moon,  a  Hne  from  full,  was  slowly  pushed 
edgewise  from  between  the  clouds  and  rolled  slantwise 
above  Moosatuk,  a  giant  coin  of  gold,  fresh  and  articu- 
late from  the  mint. 

Lucy  Dean  and  Tom  Brownell,  coming  out-of-doors 
the  instant  the  storm  abated,  walked  up  and  down  the 
cobbled  path,  all  oblivious  of  the  puddles  between 
the  stones  or  of  the  dripping  trees  above.  Brownell 
had  meantime  entirely  forgotten  how  he  came  to  be 
where  he  was,  also  his  friends  below  on  the  river  road, 
whose  motive  power  he  represented  for  the  time  being, 
or  the  fact  that,  as  the  only  resting-place  in  Gilead  for 
the  homeless  was  a  "Commercial  Hotel"  of  small 
dimensions  and  still  less  visible  cleanliness,  it  would  be 


326  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

necessary  for  them  either  to  sleep  in  the  touring  car 
or  in  Gordon. 

As  the  pair  for  the  twentieth  time  reached  the  road 
end  of  the  path  and  turned  again  into  the  deep,  sweet- 
smelling  shadows  of  the  great  box  bushes,  a  buggy 
turned  the  comer  from  the  cross-road  and  came  to  a 
halt  by  the  side  gate.  A  slender  male  figure  in  a  light 
suit  and  cap,  leaping  therefrom,  attracted  their  atten- 
tion, and  Brownell  exclaimed,  "Great  Caesar!  I've 
forgotten  those  wretches  down-  below  and  they've  come 
for  me !  Now  for  it !  right-about  face,  Lucy !"  at  the 
same  time  by  a  dexterous  turn  of  the  arm  catching  her 
about  the  waist ;  for  Lucy,  whose  chief  pride  had  always 
been  facing  the  music,  whether  necessary  or  not,  had 
started  to  bolt,  and  exhibited  as  charming  a  bit  of 
struggling  confusion  as  the  heart  of  man  could  desire. 

The  moonlight  struck  the  man's  face  as  he  came  for- 
ward. "It's  only  Charhe  Ashton,"  she  said,  freeing 
herself  at  once,  her  head  raised  to  its  defiant  poise; 
"as  he  doesn't  know  that  I  am  here,  it  is  his  turn  to 
be  surprised!" 

Charlie  Ashton,  the  useful  and  ornamental,  did  not 
bear  a  reputation  for  overweening  brilliancy;  but  the 
moment  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  pair  before  him, 
divided  though  they  now  were  by  a  box  bush,  he  divined 
what  had  happened. 

"So  this  was  the  plot,  and  the  reason  you  thought  the 


THE  RETURN  OF  MEMORY  327 

hill  would  disagree  with  the  auto,  and  left  us  to  drown 
all  this  time  down  on  that  soaking  river  road  so  that 
you  could  meet  Lucyfer  alone,"  he  cried,  seizing  Brow- 
nell  by  the  hand  and  nearly  wringing  it  off,  while  he 
aimed  a  kiss  at  his  cousin's  cheek,  in  token  of  his  ap- 
proval, which  by  a  toss  of  the  head  landed  on  her  chin. 

"  On  my  word,  Charlie,  there  was  no  plot,  it  was  pure 
accident.    I  never  dreamed  of  my  luck!" 

"Most  certainly  not !"  interrupted  Lucy ;  "otherwise 
he  would  have  been  safe  and  sound  in  Gordon  two  hours 
ago,  instead  of  being  engaged  to  me.  He  really  came 
here  to  tell  Brooke  about  the  keys,  but  circumstances 
which  he  could  not  control  (as  he  did  the  overland  trip) 
obliged  him  to  see  me  first  in  a  place  hardly  as  airy, 
though  quite  as  secluded,  as  a  special  Pullman  vesti- 
bule!" 

Ashton,  scenting  a  mystery,  but  being  too  wary  to 
press  his  cousin  for  the  clew,  gave  Brownell's  hand  a 
final  wring,  saying,  without  being  in  the  least  aware  of 
his  play  upon  words,  "  She's  a  match  for  you,  old  man, 
stubborn  as  you  are  —  yes,  and  more  than  a  match,  and 
you  have  my  profound  sympathy ;  but  do  have  pity  on 
us  to-night  and  pilot  us  into  Gordon,  for  we  are  damp 
and  hungry  and  sleepy,  and  this  old  plug  is  all  I  could 
get  at  the  stable.  To-morrow  you  shall  have  the  con- 
founded car  for  the  rest  of  the  week  to  return  here  in, 
choose  your  passenger,  and  go  and  break  down  in  the 


328  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

wildest  cross-road  of  this  confounded  hill  country.  I'll 
even  give  you  leave  to  ruin  a  tire,  or  if  the  worst  comes 
to  the  worst,  wrench  the  steering  gear,  though  I  hope 
that  won't  be  necessary.  Cheer  up,  Lucyfer,  it  isn't 
nine  o'clock  yet,  and  he  can  have  a  good  sleep  and  be 
back  in  twelve  hours.  I'll  go  in  and  see  the  ladies  a 
moment  while  you  do  the  finals !" 

"I  shall  write  to  father  to-night,"  Lucy  said  abruptly, 
as  the  door  closed  upon  Ashton,  and  Pam,  who  had 
been  waiting  to  get  out,  began  bounding  about  her 
friend,  giving  yelps  of  joy.  "What  do  you  suppose  he 
will  say?" 

Brownell  began  to  speak,  then  paused,  setting  his 
teeth,  and  raising  Lucy's  chin  gently,  looked  steadily 
in  her  face  —  "He  will  say  one  of  two  things,  according 
to  his  mood.  Either  that,  resenting  a  stepmother,  you 
have  thrown  yourself  away  upon  the  first  fellow  who 
chanced  by ;  or  that  you  have  met  the  man  who  is  to  be, 
what  he  could  not,  'all  in  all'  —  that  you  have  found 
your  mate!" 

And  Lucy,  pale  with  feeling,  a  different  pallor  from 
that  the  moonlight  gives,  returned  his  gaze  fearlessly, 
proudly,  and  from  the  lips  that  met  his  bitterness 
vanished,  while  truth  remained.  He  was  indeed  her 
mate,  her  match,  the  first  of  many  suitors,  rich  and 
poor  alike,  who  had  wooed  her,  man  to  woman,  without 
thought  or  apology  of  money. 


THE  RETURN  OF  MEMORY  329 

The  second  day  after  the  great  storm,  for  such  it  came 
to  be  called,  its  erratic  course  through  the  hill  country 
being  blazed  by  lightning-splintered  trees  and  gullied 
watercourses,  Dr.  Russell  came  and  with  him  the  Law- 
tons'  lawyer.  Little  by  little  the  various  happenings 
were  made  clear,  his  situation  and  as  far  as  might  be  his 
presence  at  the  farm  explained,  while,  as  the  days  went 
by,  slowly  the  jarred  brain  fitted  the  links  in  the  chain 
of  memory.  But  Dr.  Russell  said  truly,  that  Adam 
Lawton's  grit  and  grip  were  broken  once  for  all,  desire 
of  power  was  dead  and  in  its  place  came  desire  of  peace. 
Soon  the  little  pottering  details  of  the  farm,  despised 
in  youth,  seemed  dearer  than  aught  else,  and  he  would 
sit  for  hours  in  his  wheel-chair,  training  a  vine  or  busied 
with  harness  buckles  in  the  bam.  Nothing,  however, 
would  induce  him  to  allow  his  chair  to  go  outside  the 
gate,  or  to  drive  about  the  country  or  to  the  village 
with  Adam  or  Brooke  upon  their  many  errands. 

Side-tracked  though  he  was  to  many  eyes,  one  of  his 
selves,  the  one  unknown,  —  for  most  of  us  have  two,  — 
came  back  to  him  through  kinship  with  the  soil ;  and  at 
his  first  words  of  pride  in  and  praise  of  Adam's  useful- 
ness, the  boy  had  fled  away  to  the  rick  again,  great  sobs 
tearing  his  throat,  but  in  this  tempest  lay  no  dread, 
and  with  those  tears  the  Cub  cast  oflF  his  nickname  and 
leaped  a  year  in  manhood. 

Toward  his  wife  Adam  Lawton  was  all  tenderness, 


330  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

as  in  the  early  years,  and  once  more  he  called  her 
Mela.  But  instead  of  the  protective  pride  of  lover  to 
sweetheart,  it  was  the  twofold,  leaning  quality,  that 
makes  some  men  as  they  age  seek  the  mother  element 
in  their  wives  and  rest  upon  it. 

Before  July  came  round  the  httle  property  of  Mrs. 
Lawton  and  Brooke,  together  with  the  farm  deed  and 
the  jewels,  was  restored  to  them.  In  all  it  made  an 
annual  sixteen  hundred  dollars,  less  by  many  times  than 
either  woman  had  spent  for  clothing  or  the  many  little 
luxuries  and  nothings  that  smooth  and  beautify  the 
daily  life  —  yet  for  their  station  they  had  been  frugal 
women,  though  always  generous. 

This  money  did  not  lessen  Brooke's  determination  or 
endeavour ;  it  simply  turned  striving  to  possibility  of  life 
in  the  composite  household.  Neither,  had  the  sum  been 
ten  times  what  it  was,  would  any  of  the  three,  mother, 
daughter,  son,  have  cared  to  give  up  the  work  and  with 
it  motive ;  simply  Brooke  could  now  dream  more  than 
day-dreams  of  her  art.  Rosius,  the  animal  painter,  had 
built  a  studio  at  Gordon,  and,  after  seeing  a  head  that 
Brooke  had  done  of  Senator  Parks's  prize  bull,  he  had 
replaced  his  usual  shrugging  lethargy  toward  amateurs 
by  enthusiasm,  ofiFered  to  criticise  her  work  throughout 
the  season,  and  take  her  as  a  student  of  animal  anatomy 
in  his  winter  studio  in  Washington,  where  the  models 
of  the  Zoo  would  be  open  to  her,  saying,  "You  feel,  you 


THE  RETURN  OF  MEMORY  331 

understand,  you  catch  the  thought,  the  meaning  in  the 
eyes,  —  this  must  be  bom,  not  taught,  all  the  rest  only 
means  much  work  and  is  leamable." 

If  all  went  well  and  the  Sign  of  the  Fox  remained 
her  talisman,  who  knew  but  the  fund  might  grow,  her 
father  become  strong  enough  to  be  house  man  in  more 
than  name,  Adam  might  have  some  education  even  if 
Stead  returned  to  work,  and  she  herself  could  steal  a 
month  or  two  in  the  dead  season?  —  for  the  Parkses 
would  be  in  Washington,  and  both  the  Senator  and 
his  wife  took  an  interest  in  her  work,  not  bom  of 
desire  to  patronize. 

Presently  Adam  Lawton  began  to  read  a  little  and 
could  move  slowly  from  porch  to  garden  seat,  steadied 
by  canes,  and  attend  to  many  of  his  wants.  Then  one 
glad  day  Mrs.  Fenton  had  come  down  in  her  wheel- 
chair, and  by  sheer  force  of  will  broke  the  home-staying 
spell  by  coaxing  him  to  drive  back  to  a  country  boiled 
dinner  with  her,  saying,  "  Don't  you  remember,  Adam, 
when  we  were  boy  and  girl  together,  and  I  said  I'd  go 
to  your  father's  barn-raising  dance  with  whichever  of 
you  boys  could  lift  himself  up  and  touch  his  chin  tc 
the  schoolroom  door  frame,  three  times?  Some  boys 
couldn't  claw,  and  some  got  a  grip  and  let  go,  while 
some  wanted  boosting.  You  were  the  smallest,  yet  you 
got  a  hold  and  lifted  yourself  slowlike,  inch  by  inch, 
until  you  got  there.     That's  the  way  now,   Adam! 


332  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

You've  had  your  tumble,  and  naturally  you've  got  to 
help  hft  yourself!" 

Was  it  what  rural  folks  call  a  good  growing  season, 
or  did  love  and  labour  brighten  and  sweeten  the  simple 
garden  flowers  beyond  their  wont?  Who  can  say? 
Adam  had  made  some  comer  brackets  for  the  vine- 
screened  "tea  room"  porch,  which  Brooke  had  covered 
with  tufts  of  gray  moss  and  coral- capped  Hchens,  and 
here  every  day  she  placed,  as  well  as  on  the  table, 
quaint  stone  jugs  and  lustre  pitchers,  rescued  from  the 
high  top  shelf  of  Grandma  West's  dresser,  filled  them 
with  sweet  peas,  Madonna  hlies,  mignonette,  sweet- 
wiUiam,  and  clove  pinks,  and  kept  long  sprays  of  sweet 
syringa,  Hlacs,  snowballs,  lemon-UUes,  foxgloves,  lark- 
spur, hollyhocks,  according  to  the  season,  in  an  old 
stone  chum  raised  upon  a  bench  before  the  kitchen 
window  end  to  veil  it. 

Not  only  did  the  garden  )deld  its  best  to  those  who 
paused  for  refreshment  in  passing  by,  but  Brooke's 
measure  of  added  Uberty,  scant  though  it  was,  gave  her 
a  breathing  time  to  go  abroad  for  flowers  of  roadside, 
wood,  and  the  rank  river  meadows ;  and  while  her  eyes 
and  hands  were  busy  with  the  blossoms,  her  soul  drank 
in  the  beauty  of  the  scenes  beyond,  her  heart  beat  strong, 
and  her  whole  nature  seemed  to  expand  and  perfect 
itself  in  the  growth  and  perfecting  of  the  earth  about 
her. 


THE  RETURN  OF  MEMORY  333 

It  was  on  the  return  from  one  of  these  walks  through 
the  river  meadows,  arms  laden  with  blue  fleur-de-lis 
and  golden  sundrops  gathered  to  the  tinkling  music 
of  soaring  boboUnks,  that  she  met  the  postman  turning 
up  the  cross-road  from  the  lower  pike,  and  he  begged 
that  she  wotild  take  the  mail,  as  he  had  none  this 
afternoon  for  any  other  on  that  branch  and  his  horse 
was  lame. 

Good-naturedly  she  turned  up  a  comer  of  her  skirt 
to  act  as  mail  pouch,  for  the  papers,  circulars,  and 
what  not  made  quite  a  budget. 

Reaching  the  boundary  of  her  land  when  halfway 
uphill,  and  being  wrist-cramped  by  the  double  load, 
she  dropped  her  flowers  and  mail,  and  sitting  in  the 
shade  began  to  sort  it.  Behind  her  was  the  rye  field, 
and  the  wind  curling  across  the  crisping  ears,  now  gold- 
green,  made  sound  as  of  a  gently  rising  tide  on  pebbled 
shores,  while  as  she  leaned  against  the  bank  the  bay- 
berry,  sweet-gale,  and  hay  ferns  breathed  their  wild 
fragrance. 

Oh,  what  a  day  it  was !  June  dominance  and  rush 
yielding  to  the  more  finished  manners  of  July  —  noth- 
ing was  lacking!  That  is,  nothing  attainable;  the 
love  of  things  seemed  to  eclipse  the  love  of  people. 
Ah,  no,  not  quite,  for  as  she  gazed  idly  at  the  letters 
in  her  lap,  her  heart  gave  a  great  throb,  and  one  square 
package  lurched  and  slid  between  her  trembUng  fingers, 


334  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

for  the  address  on  it  was  written  in  Ashton's  eccentric 
hand.  Picking  it  up,  she  laid  the  others  by,  and 
steadying  herself  deliberately  broke  the  seal,  for  it  was 
sealed  endwise  with  wax.  Inside  was  a  double-folded 
piece  of  foreign-looking  paper,  but  no  other  address  or 
postmark,  the  transit  cover  evidently  having  been  torn 
or  soiled,  and  not  a  written  word  of  any  sort  in  view. 
Within  its  folds  a  little  square  of  millboard,  the  dupli- 
cate of  that  which  had  borne  her  picture,  only  from  this 
looked  forth  the  face  of  Lorenz  himself,  standing  in 
a  doorway,  clad  in  his  loose  blouse,  palette  and  brush 
in  hand.  The  heavy  thatch  of  hair  shaded  his  fore- 
head deeply,  the  face  was  thinner  than  she  remem- 
bered it,  the  chin  under  the  thick  mustache  more 
determined,  the  jaw  set  with  a  depth  of  purpose,  while 
the  eyes  looked  half  away  as  if  seeking  inspiration  and 
yet  followed  her  everywhere,  until  Brooke  covered  them 
with  her  hand  a  moment  as  if  to  escape  the  too  tense 
gaze  of  a  real  presence. 

Hoofs  sounded  on  the  road,  and  there  passed  by 
Enoch  Fenton  with  his  horse-rake,  coming  in  neigh- 
bourly fashion  to  help  the  farmer-on-shares  gather  up 
the  timothy  hay  from  its  last  sunning  to  house  it  before 
nightfall ;  to-morrow  it  would  be  turn  about,  according 
to  country  lore.  Seeing  Brooke  he  stopped,  and  after 
making  the  usual  crop  and  weather  epigrams,  said: 
"That  there  man  of  our'n  is  right  smart  and  steady, 


THE  RETURN  OF  MEMORY  335 

but  he  hustles  too  much  and  he^s  losing  girth  —  'fore 
summer's  out  he'll  be  slim  enough  to  swim  through  an 
eel  run.  I've  advised  him,  if  he's  goin'  to  follow  the 
soil,  to  locate  farther  north,  but  he  seems  unsettled  and 
I  reckon  he'll  move  on  after  leaf-fall,  —  they  mostly 
do,  the  smart  ones,  besides  which  he  acts  as  if  the  girl 
he's  waitin'  fer  wasn't  comin'.  If  she  don't,  she's  a 
silly,  for  I  nary  seen  a  man  with  two  strong  hands  hev 
such  a  wise  head ! 

"Say,  but  you  look  sort  of  Hke  a  picter  setting  there 
with  all  them  posies,  something  like  the  one  on  the  cal- 
endar they  give  with  the  'Rise  up  bake  powder'  when 
you've  bought  six  cans.  It's  called  *The  Love  Letter,' 
only  the  girl's  got  red  heels  to  her  shoes  and  powered- 
up  hair,  besides  which  they'd  bought  her  too  small  a 
pattern  for  her  waist  to  piece  it  well  up  in  front ! 

"Want  ter  know!  I  bet  it's  a  love  letter,  his  picter 
and  all,  and  I'm  right  glad  on't ! "  Then  farmer  Fenton 
chirruped  to  his  horses  and  went  his  way,  laughing  to 
himself,  and  turning  the  tobacco  from  cheek  to  cheek 
with  reHsh,  for  Brooke  had  reddened  under  his  banter, 
and  in  trying  to  save  the  sliding  letters  in  her  lap  had 
not  only  dropped  them,  but  the  picture  as  well  (which 
the  farmer  barely  saw,  having  no  glasses).  When  she 
stooped  to  gather  them  up,  and  slipped  the  picture 
inside  her  blouse  for  safer  keeping,  a  second  shadow 
crossed  the  road  —  that  of  Henry  Maarten,  following 


336  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

the  brook  path  to  the  hay-field,  but  if  he  saw  her  in 
the  sheltered  bank  nook  he  made  no  sign;  neither  did 
Brooke,  but  huddled  there  among  the  ferns  elated,  dis- 
appointed, and  quite  bewildered,  until  the  sound  of  hoof 
and  wheel  had  died  away,  and  she  knew  that  both  men 
were  well  within  the  fence. 

The  words  that  Enoch  Fenton  muttered  as  he  walked, 
talking  to  himself  in  lengthy  monologue,  after  the  style 
of  those  much  alone,  were  these :  "  Bob  Stead !  by 
gosh,  he's  been  away  a  month,  and  what's  more  Hkely 
than  he's  sent  his  picter  and  writes  reglar?  Anyhow, 
all  the  women  folks  this  side  of  Windy  Hill  and  further 
has  planned  it  so,  and  so  it's  bound  to  be !  Besides 
which  our  darter's  boy,  Willie,  was  lookin'  fer  winter- 
green  for  mother's  rheumatiz  up  in  North  Woods  beyond 
Stony  Guzzle  two  months  back,  and  he  spied  a  couple 
settin'  by  the  stream  a-holdin'  hands  and  eatin'  apples. 
Now  if  that  ain't  courtin' — what  is?  Though  it's  only 
jest  likely  hit  and  miss,  wife  and  Sairy  Ann  Williams 
met  and  pieced  together  who  they  wuz.  He's  a  mum 
sort,  but  that's  the  kind  it  takes  a  girl  to  get  goin', 
and  he's  well  set  up,  funds  and  all,  though  oldish ! 
Well,  she  might  do  worse  seein'  she's  had  a  taste  o' 
pinchin',"  and  selecting  a  fine  spear  of  timothy  with 
which  to  pick  his  teeth,  Fenton  reversed  the  rake  and 
mounted. 

Adam  had  written  to  Stead  several  times  since  his 
going  away,  and  received  cheerful,  though  brief,  repUes, 


THE  RETURN  OF  MEMORY  337 

which,  however,  said  nothing  definite  as  to  his  return, 
and  though  the  time  mentioned  was  a  month,  the  term 
might  be  merely  nominal.  All  the  household  had 
missed  him  in  their  different  ways,  the  Cub  with  almost 
girlish  sentiment,  Mrs.  Lawton  as  a  link  with  the  state 
of  life  that  was,  and  Brooke  chiefly  because  she  was 
entirely  used  to  him  and  associated  him  with  so  much 
that  had  given  hope  and  eased  the  winter  rigour,  that 
the  friendship  to  her  had  become  almost  the  easy 
intimacy  of  relationship. 

It  was  an  afternoon  early  in  July  that  Brooke  was 
searching  along  the  foot-path  in  the  hemlock  woods 
above  the  Fenton's  for  the  flowers  of  pipsissewa,  with 
their  wax  petals  and  spicy  wood  fragrance,  when  the 
snapping  of  twigs  made  her  turn,  and  striding  down 
the  hill,  straight  into  the  hght,  with  quick,  elastic  step, 
came  Robert  Stead,  a  new,  alert  expression  on  his  well- 
tanned  face  that  wiped  at  least  half  a  dozen  years  from 
his  time  record. 

Brooke  was  surprised  and  also  frankly  glad.  Drop- 
ping her  flowers,  she  held  out  both  her  hands  and  told 
him  so. 

"As  this  is  the  first  word  from  you  in  five  long  weeks, 
it  is  well  that  it  is  a  kind  one,"  he  replied.  Then, 
holding  her  off,  he  looked  at  her  as  if  to  make  sure  it 
was  she  herself,  and  not  the  masquerading  gypsy  girl 
whose  image  always  rose  and  came  between  them  when 
he  met  her  out-of-doors. 


338  AT  THE   SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"Ah,  so  much  has  happened  since  then!  but  Adam 
has  written  it  all,  except  perhaps  that  now  I  may  hope 
to  go  to  Washington  for  next  winter  to  study.  That  is 
quite  far  ofiF,  however,  so  tell  me  about  yourself,  also 
how  working  has  agreed  with  you!"  she  added  mis- 
chievously. 

"Work !  They  tell  the  truth  —  those  that  call  it  the 
master- word  that  unlocks  all  barriers !  Child,  child, 
do  you  know  what  you  have  done  for  me  by  acting  and 
teaching  it,  so  that  now  to  me  life,  that  was  ended 
(as  far  as  joy  is  life),  has  but  begun? 

"Not  only  the  desire  for  work,  but  the  motive,  came 
from  you  —  is  you !  You  have  the  magic  crystal  of 
youth,  I  hold  anew  the  power  to  shield  it;  you  have 
the  fire  of  genius,  I  the  fuel  to  feed  its  flame !  Come 
to  me,  Brooke;  with  you  only  I  can  forget,  forgive! 
Redeem  the  past  for  me !" 

As  he  paused  with  arms  extended,  Brooke  shrank 
backward  against  the  trunk  of  a  great  hemlock,  be- 
wildered, dizzy  almost,  by  the  sudden  fierceness  of  his 
passion,  confounded  by  the  meaning  that  now  ban- 
ished what  was  friendship.  She  moistened  her  hps 
nervously  and  tried  to  speak,  but  found  no  words. 

Hardly  noticing  her  silence,  he  swept  on:  "Li^cn, 
and  you  will  beUeve  that  I  know  love  at  last.  |tver 
since  the  day  I  met  you  by  the  trout  stream,  I  have 
understood  how  Helen  could  give  up  all  to  save  her 


THE  RETURN  OF  MEMORY  339 

lover.  Why  do  you  shrink?  Is  it  all  too  sudden,  my 
rebirth?    Did  you  not  even  guess?" 

Brooke  steadied  herself  with  difficulty  and  merely 
shook  her  head.  Stead  leaned  toward  her  and  would 
have  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  but  something  in  her  face 
held  him  at  bay. 

"What  is  it,  child?  for  God's  sake,  don't  look  so !  I 
have  frightened  you !  You  welcomed  me  as  a  friend, 
why  not  a  lover  ?  Am  I  then  too  old  for  that  ? "  and 
for  an  instant  an  iron  frown  drove  the  radiance  from 
his  face. 

Slowly  Brooke  began  to  reaUze  that  he  was  offering  her 
his  love,  his  protection  to  them  all.  It  meant  pleasant 
companionship,  no  more  struggling,  certainty  and 
reasonable  ease,  time  for  study.  For  an  instant  she 
felt  weary,  overcome,  vanquished,  and  the  relief  within 
her  grasp  seemed  almost  sweet.  The  next  moment  her 
woman's  nature,  frank  and  real,  knew  that  this  was  not 
all,  and  faltering,  yet  gaining  courage  as  she  spoke, 
she  answered :  — 

"That  is  not  it;  you  do  seem  old  to  me,  but  if  I  had 
loved  you,  I  should  not  think  of  that  or  know  it — only 
that  I  loved  you." 

"And  how  can  you  know  that  you  do  not?  you  with 
the  transparent  nature  of  a  child,  how  can  you  judge  of 
these  things  as  well  as  those  who  have  been  tried  by 
fire?    Unless  — "  and  his  voice  dropped  and  the  colour 


340  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

died  from  his  face,  leaving  it  an  earthy. gray  under  its 
coat  of  tan — "unless  there  is  some  one  else  this  time  as 
there  was  before.  Is  there  this  some  one,  Brooke,  and 
has  he  stood  proof  as  well?" 

Brooke's  pallor  left  her,  and  strength  came  to  limb 
and  voice.  Stepping  quickly  toward  him,  she  laid  her 
hands  on  his  that  were  now  held  clenched,  and  looking 
into  his  face  said,  in  a  voice  quivering  with  coming  tears : 
"I  need  your  pity,  too.  There  is  another,  Robert 
Stead,  but  he  does  not  and  may  never  know." 

"God  help  us  both,"  he  murmured,  and  stooping 
almost  reverently,  pressed  the  kiss  upon  the  folded 
hands  with  which  a  moment  before  he  would  have 
sought  to  kindle  the  fire  in  her  Hps. 

For  many  moments  they  stood  thus,  and  then  Brooke 
said,  with  difficulty,  "You  will  come  sometimes  to  see 
my  mother  and  Adam?  Oh,  do  not  let  my  blindness 
make  you  cast  him  off!" 

"Yes  and  no  — "  Stead  answered,  as  they  turned  and 
walked  mechanically  down  the  wood  lane  toward  the 
highway. 

Once  in  the  open  he  paused  and  said,  in  a  voice  sc 
low  and  trembfing  that  it  was  but  a  whisper,  "I  have  a 
report  to  make  to-night,  but  to-morrow  I  will  go  to  see 
your  mother."  Then,  taking  her  hand  gently :  "  Do  not 
grieve,  gentle  one,  I  was  bhnd  too;  we  are  all  blind 
when  the  heart's  eye  is  satisfied.    At  worst,  you  have 


THE  RETURN  OF  MEMORY  341 

done  more  than  you  know  for  me;  now,  the  motive 
lacking,  I  shall  try  to  work  for  work's  sake  —  and  — " 
pointing  eastward — "I  shall  still  share  with  you  the 
River  Kingdom!" 

No  word  of  this  ordeal  ever  passed  the  lips  of 
Brooke,  but  it  lay  heavily  upon  her,  for  she  was  of  the 
sort  who  feel  that  love,  honestly  proffered,  even  if  un- 
sought, carries  an  eternal  obligation.  Yet  some  one 
else  had  seen  and  shared  the  secret  that  lay  buried  be- 
tween them,  and  read  the  meaning  amiss.  The  farmer- 
on-shares  had  crossed  the  path  below  on  his  way  from 
Enoch  Fenton's  rye-field  at  the  moment  that  Stead 
had  stooped  to  kiss  Brooke's  folded  hands. 


CHAPTER  XrX 

SETTERS  OF  SNARES 

The  month  of  Lucy  Dean's  stay  spread  itself  over 
the  entire  summer,  and  before  she  left  the  fragrance 
of  wild  grapes  came  from  the  river  woods,  and  the 
blue  ribbon  binding  the  tasselled  grasses  of  the  moist 
meadows  was  loomed  of  Puritan  fringed  gentian  in- 
stead of  royal  fleur-de-lis.  Time  was  when  Lucy's 
protracted  presence,  under  Hke  circumstances,  would 
have  been  a  strain,  akin  to  moving  in  a  comedy  of 
rapid  action,  where  every  actor  must  be  on  the  alert 
to  take  his  cue.  But  to  this  restless,  high-strung  woman 
love  had  come  as  a  clarifier,  hke  the  magic  electric 
touch  that  vitaHzes  the  air  after  the  summer  storm 
has  passed,  and  makes  the  breath  come  more  freely. 

As  she  became  an  open  book  to  her  friend,  their 
relative  positions  altered,  and  the  transparent  Brooke 
of  old  in  her  turn  became  a  mystery  to  Lucy,  while 
Stead  fairly  piqued  her  to  the  point  of  anger.  She 
thought  she  knew  at  least  the  eyemarks  of  mascuHne 
devotion,  and  before  Stead's  June  departure  she  had 
read  them  in  all  their  changefulness  when  his  eyes 

34a 


SETTERS  OF  SNARES  343 

rested  upon  Brooke,  and  wondered  if  she  were  wholly 
blind,  or  seeing  it  unwillingly,  feigned  bhndness.  Time 
would  teU,  she  thought,  for  judging  by  herself,  she 
knew  that,  to  some  moods  at  least,  separation  is  the 
searcher  of  hearts  in  doubt.  All  visible  signs,  how- 
ever, had  failed,  as  on  the  return  the  visits,  though 
hardly  less  frequent,  seemed  to  lack  the  personal  spon- 
taneity of  before,  and  to  come  under  the  family  or 
merely  casual  order.  Still  this  might  be  accounted  for 
by  the  fact  that  Stead  was  absorbed  in  the  designing 
of  a  serious  piece  of  work  of  some  magnitude,  and  the 
remote  hermitage  had  become  the  destination  of  men 
of  divers  sorts,  —  old  friends  who  had  been  held  almost 
forcibly  aloof  and  new  professional  acquaintances. 

Dr.  Russell,  who  had  been  at  too  great  a  distance 
to  divine  the  intimate  reason  of  the  revulsion,  laid  it 
wholly  to  the  humanizing  effect  of  the  general  com- 
panionship and  contact  with  the  wholesome,  firm- 
purposed  family  life  of  the  homestead,  and  he  rejoiced 
exceedingly  that  at  last  his  friend  had,  as  it  were, 
separated  self  from  shelf,  and  stood  aside  from  the 
self-inflicted  gloom  of  his  own  shadow.  But  one  day, 
chancing  upon  Stead  in  New  York,  and  reading  a 
different,  yet  deeper,  suffering,  purged  of  old  selfish- 
ness, in  his  face,  his  habit  of  mental  diagnosis,  tinged 
with  kindly  philosophy,  was  at  an  equal  loss  with 
Lucy's  lightning  intuition. 


344  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

As  to  Brooke,  she  walked  straight  forward,  almost 
mechanically,  throughout  those  summer  days,  filled 
alike  with  work  and  sunshine.  The  anxiety  of  the 
winter  had  been  to  know  if  the  new  life  could  possibly 
become  a  permanence.  Now  life  under  the  Sign  of 
the  Fox  seemed  a  thing  assured;  and  yet  the  days 
seemed  longer  labourwise  now  than  before,  for  though 
Brooke  could  read  the  material  future,  she  did  not 
know  herself.  The  culmination  of  Stead's  friendship 
pained  her,  almost  haunted  her,  though  chiefly  because 
it  had  laid  bare  the  needs  of  her  own  heart.  Ideal 
and  real  alike  had  grown  intangible.  Even  Lorenz' 
picture  seemed  to  look  at  her  in  reproach,  and  the 
giant  shadow  of  the  farmer-on-shares  crossed  the  fields 
less  frequently  now  that  the  growing  time  was  past. 
It  seemed,  too,  that  Enoch  Fenton's  words  were  prov- 
ing true,  for  the  man  had  grown  gaunt  under  the 
scorching  sun  and  toil,  and  Bisbee  duly  reported  that 
his  plans  had  fallen  through  about  his  sweetheart  and 
settling,  and  that  he  was  going  to  the  old  country 
before  winter. 

As  to  Lucy's  proposed  descent  upon  the  farmer-on- 
shares,  begun  in  a  spirit  of  teasing  and  continued 
purely  through  curiosity,  it  was,  as  she  afterward 
termed  it,  "a  regular  toboggan  slide";  and  no  matter 
in  what  way  or  from  where  she  approached  him,  with- 
out the  least  apparent  effort  on  his  part,  he  was  im- 


SETTERS  OF  SNARES  345 

mediately  at  the  farthest  possible  point  away  from  her. 
So  that  a  one-sided  wager  she  had  made  with  Brooke, 
who  professed  complete  ignorance,  that  she  could  tell 
the  colour  of  his  eyes  and  what  he  would  look  like 
without  his  "barbarous  beard"  at  first  sight,  re- 
mained unproven,  —  for  Lucy  there  was  no  near-by  first 
sight  at  all. 

From  the  West  homestead  Lucy  Dean  had  gone 
to  Gordon  to  visit  Mrs.  Parks.  After  she  had  been 
away  a  week  the  early  twilight  saw  her  coming  up  the 
cross-road  from  Gilead  station,  driven  by  the  ubiquitous 
Bisbee  boy  in  the  same  buggy  that  had  brought  Ashton 
the  night  of  the  storm. 

No  one  was  ever  wholly  surprised  at  any  action  on 
Lucy's  part,  and  when  Mrs.  Lawton  and  Brooke 
noticed  that  the  buggy  had  driven  away  again,  they 
concluded  that  Lucy  had  come  to  bid  them  good-by 
before  returning  home,  as  the  papers  were  full  of  the 
return  of  the  new  Mrs.  Dean  to  New  York,  of  the 
satisfaction  of  their  friends  in  general,  and  of  the  popu- 
larity of  the  couple.  They  themselves  were  both 
dubious  as  to  how  Lucy  would  enjoy  being  even  tem- 
porarily only  a  daughter  in  the  house  where  she  had 
reigned  supreme;  and  though  Mr.  Dean  had  cordially 
approved  of  Lucy's  engagement,  it  was  well  under- 
stood that  it  must  necessarily  be  a  long  one. 

xA.fter  the  greetings  were  over,   and  Lucy  learned 


346  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

their  thoughts  of  her  coming,  she  did  not  appear  as 
much  at  ease  as  usual. 

"The  fact  is,"  she  began  abruptly,  "I  haven't  come 
to  say  good-by;  I'm  stopping  with  Mrs.  Parks  until 
she  goes  to  town,  for  the  Senator  has  to  be  away, 
and  we  hit  it  off  nicely  together.  I've  taught  the  heir 
apparent  endless  tricks,  so  that  he  can  outrank  any 
baby  of  the  social  circus,  and  consequently  of  course 
they  adore  me. 

"I've  come  to  bid  Tom  good-by,  for  he  is  suddenly 
being  sent  abroad  to  report  socially,  politically,  and 
otherwise  on  that  Congress  at  The  Hague.  Of  course 
it  isn't  exactly  the  work  of  city  editor,  but  he  knows 
the  ground  and  languages  and  all  of  that,  besides  which 
it  will  be  good  for  him  in  every  way,  and  he  sails  on 
Saturday ! " 

"But  where  is  he?"  asked  Brooke,  too  much  puzzled 
to  be  surprised.  "We  have  not  seen  him,  and  how 
do  you  expect  to  meet  him  here  when  he  knows  that 
you  are  in  Gordon  ?  though  I've  often  thought  it  safest 
to  look  for  you  where  you  are  not,  for  there  is  where 
you  are  usually  to  be  found,"  and  then  they  both 
laughed  at  the  Irish  bull  Brooke  had  perpetrated. 

"The  telephone,  my  dear  —  from  Gordon  to  New 
York  —  price  one  dollar!  He  wired  frugally:  'Sail 
for  Hague  Saturday,  will  be  in  Gordon  to-night,'  upon 
which  I  called  him  up,  and  limited  his  trip  to  Gilead, 


SETTERS  OF  SNARES  347 

supper  at  the  Sign  of  the  Fox,  afterward  the  Com- 
mercial Hotel  by  the  depot,  unless  urgently  requested 
by  Mrs.  Lawton  to  pass  the  night  in  the  wasp  room 
with  the  black  walnut  furniture!  Unfortunately,  as 
you  have  no  'phone,  I  could  not  inform  you  of  the 
arrangement  until  I  came  in  person,"  and  even  Adam 
Lawton  joined  quietly  in  the  laugh  that  followed 
Lucy's  audacious  confession. 

"There  will  be  a  'phone  here  for  you  to  announce 
your  marriage  next  summer,  if  you  grow  impatient 
of  watching  and  waiting,"  said  Brooke  mischievously; 
"so  many  people  have  asked  us  to  have  it  that  they 
may  send  orders  with  less  trouble,  and  then  both 
Cousin  Keith  and  mother  think  that  it  would  be  real 
economy  of  both  time  and  material  for  us  to  know 
when  large  parties  are  driving  out." 

Tom  Brownell  came  duly,  and  Mrs.  Lawton  almost 
purred  with  content  as  she  saw  the  pair  of  strong  young 
faces  at  the  tea-table,  happy  with  the  tender  happiness 
that  is  refined  by  a  coming  parting  for  anticipated 
good.  Again  the  two  paced  up  and  down  the  path 
beside  the  house  in  the  moonlight,  but  this  time  it  was 
the  young  hunter's  moon,  curved  as  a  powder-horn, 
and  hurrying  early  to  bed  after  his  sun  mother,  that 
looked  narrowly  between  the  trees  athwart  the  western 
sky. 

"It  will  be  a  splendid  trip  for  you,  —  nothing  could 


348  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

be  better,"  said  Lucy,  brightening;  "you've  not  had 
a  month  out  of  the  city  these  two  years  past." 

"It  would  be  better  if  it  were  to  be  our  wedding  jour- 
ney," answered  Brownell;  "being  engaged  may  be  an 
excitement  and  stimulant  to  the  sluggish,  but  for  us  the 
calmness  of  certainty  would  be  far  better ;  but  as  it  is, 
dear,  I  am  more  than  thankful  for  my  half-loaf." 

Lucy  did  not  speak  for  a  few  moments,  and  then, 
turning  swiftly  and  putting  both  hands  on  his  shoulders, 
in  her  old  earnest  fashion,  said,  transfixing  him  with 
her  black  eyes,  in  which  mischief  and  pleading  now 
struggled  for  mastery:  "If  a  thing  would  be  better, 
it  is  wrong  not  to  do  it,  for  we  are  bound  to  do  our 
best.  It  shall  be  our  wedding  journey.  How  much 
money  have  you  of  your  very  own?" 

Stunned  into  plain  fact-telling,  Brownell  named  a 
sum  of  less  than  three  thousand  dollars,  accumulated 
of  extras  and  contributions  to  magazines. 

"Good!  I  have  as  much  more  of  my  half  year's 
allowance,  which  papa  always  pays  in  advance;  it 
will  do  very  nicely !" 

"But  Lucy,  you  wonder,  I  will  not  take  a  wedding 
trip  or  travel  on  your  money !" 

"Certainly  not;  yours  will  be  more  than  enough  for 
two  months!  I  will  save  mine  for  the  suburban  cot- 
tage furniture  on  our  return,  and  I  can  paper  a  not 
too  big  room  beautifully  myself,  if  the  paper  has  stripes 


SETTERS  OF  SNARES  349 

to  guide  by.  Miss  Keith  taught  Brooke  and  me  this 
past  summer,  and  we  practised  on  the  pantry,  which 
looks  quite  well,  because  when  the  shelves  were  put 
back  they  hid  the  bubbles,  where  our  arms  ached 
and  we  didn't  rub  the  paper  smooth." 

"But  think  a  moment,  sweetheart,"  almost  gasped 
Brownell,  who  felt  that  he  was  on  the  full  run  down- 
stream toward  rapids  for  which  he  had  not  a  paddle 
adjusted  to  shoot  in  safety.  "Where  shall  we  be 
married?  This  is  Wednesday,  —  there  are  only  three 
days!  How  about  your  father?  and  then,  clothes?  — 
women  always  need  clothes !  Don't  think  I  am  object- 
ing; it's  only  that  I  will  not  take  unfair  advantage  of 
your  warm-heartedness,"  he  added,  as  a  shadow  of 
disappointment  lurked  on  her  piquant  face. 

"Where?  Here,  to-morrow,  at  the  Sign  of  the  Fox, 
father  and  company  to  be  bidden  by  telephone;  they  can 
arrive  at  three- forty,  and  go  on  to  Gordon  later.  As  to 
clothes  —  oh,  Tom !  all  women  have  clothes  enough  in 
which  to  follow  their  heart's  desire,  and  I  have  trunks 
fuU!" 

Then  that  slim  young  hunter's  moon  (which  should 
have  been  in  bed)  thought  some  one  called  him  softly, 
and,  looking  back,  saw  what  would  have  lured  his 
godmother  Diana  from  her  hunting  trail  of  sohtude! 

For  the  second  time  that  season  the  personal  affairs 
of  Lucy  and  Brownell  electrified  the  sober  old  house 


350  AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  FOX 

by  their  rapidity,  and  each  one  received  the  news  quite 
differently.  Miss  Keith  rushed  for  the  raisin  jar  and 
began  seeding  with  might  and  main,  and  handled 
the  spice  boxes  until  they  rattled,  for  it  would  take 
all  the  early  morning  hours  to  bake  the  wedding  cake, 
and  all  the  early  afternoon  to  cool  it. 

The  Cub  was  in  his  element,  as,  with  Billy  harnessed 
to  the  buggy,  he  escorted  Tom  Brownell  to  the  tele- 
phone office  and  the  parson's.  Brooke  and  Lucy 
opened  a  great  chest  in  the  attic,  where  some  gowns 
of  past  luxury  were  stowed  away,  to  find  a  muslin  for 
Brooke's  part  of  bridesmaid;  while  Mrs.  Lawton, 
thinking  as  ever  first  of  her  husband,  told  him  of  the 
happenings  with  her  hand  resting  on  his,  to  secure 
attention,  and  at  the  same  time  wondered,  somewhat 
apprehensively,  how  the  sight  of  his  old  friend  in  the 
flower  of  his  prosperity  would  affect  him.  She  need 
not  have  troubled,  for  Adam  Lawton  dwelt  in  that 
strange  between-land  called  Peace,  where  hfe  is  made 
up  of  apathy  and  simple  comfort,  and  was  content,  a 
state  altogether  different  from  the  triumphant  peace 
that  follows  work  achieved  or  victory  won. 

So  it  came  about  that  the  next  afternoon  at  five,  in 
the  httle  library  of  the  homestead,  two  strong  human 
identities  merged,  and  Lucy,  no  longer  Lucy  Dean, 
in  her  dark  red  travelling  gown,  her  bouquet  made  by 
Brooke  of  fleece-white  garden  chrysanthemums,  turn- 


SETTERS  OF  SNARES  351 

ing  to  her  father,  clasped  her  arms  about  his  neck  with 
a  new  fervour,  and  whispered,  "You  see  I'm  still  follow- 
ing your  lead,  you  dear  old  daddy,  so  have  a  care ! " 
Then,  led  by  Brownell,  she  went  to  the  screened  porch, 
gay  with  bright  leaves  and  berries,  to  cut  the  wedding 
cake,  which,  both  well  baked  and  safely  cooled,  crowned 
the  hastily  improvised  collation.  Tatters  and  Pam 
appeared  wearing  white  neck  bows,  and  the  only  out- 
siders were  Mrs.  Parks  and  Charlie  Ashton,  the  mys- 
terious coming  of  whom  no  one  could  fathom,  and 
of  which  he  emphatically  decUned  to  tell.  Although 
Brooke  watched  him  wistfully  and  Hngered  after  the 
others  had  left  for  Gilead  station,  he  made  no  sign. 

It  was  three  months  since  Lorenz  had  sent  word  or 
token.  Was  it,  after  all,  only  an  illusion  ?  Brooke  even 
began  to  doubt  if  Ashton's  was  really  the  hand  that  had 
forwarded  the  letters  from  Lorenz.  She  was  minded  to 
ask  him  outright,  but  while  she  hesitated  the  moment 
passed,  for,  entering  Mrs.  Parks's  landau,  he  returned 
with  her  to  Gordon.  Looking  up  at  the  Sign  of  the 
Fox,  her  talisman,  as  she  passed  under  it  and  in  at 
the  gate,  she  wondered  if  it  would  ever  see  another 
wedding,  and  smiled  in  spite  of  her  own  thoughts, 
and  at  the  possible  comic  answer  to  them  as  she  looked 
up  the  path  and  saw  the  parson,  lately  installed,  an 
unencumbered  man  of  sixty,  taking  his  fourth  cup 
of  tea,  alternating  lemon  and  cream,  while  Miss  Keith 


352  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

twittered  about  him  with  the  eatables,  and  gave  a 
deeply  freckled  blush  at  some  remark  he  made  in 
stowing  a  small,  flat  package  of  wedding  cake  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket.  Thus  does  hope  often  triumph  over 
experience. 

Again  it  was  the  hunting  season,  and  Dr.  Russell 
would  soon  come  for  his  autumn  holiday.  Stead 
waited  for  him  with  more  than  usual  eagerness,  being 
in  pitiful  want  of  companionship  in  which  he  need 
no  longer  play  a  part  that  was  growing  every  day  more 
impossible  and  intolerable.  Brooke  desired  to  see  the 
doctor,  and  learn  if  possible  how  far  her  father's  steady 
and  rational  improvement  might  be  trusted;  and  Miss 
Keith,  remembering  some  past  advice  of  his,  began 
to  feel  tremulously  that  possibly  before  another  visit 
she  might  need  a  fresh  instalment,  and  so  resolved 
to  be  forehanded. 

Much  game  had  been  let  loose  during  the  past  few 
years  in  the  hill  country  in  a  sportsmanlike  effort  to 
restock  it  as  far  as  might  be,  and  when  this  is  done 
there  follows  the  pot-hunter  with  his  snares.  Robert 
Stead,  always  an  enemy  of  these  slouching  malefactors 
of  wood  and  brush  lot,  had  this  season  announced 
that  he  was  prepared  to  give  the  tribe  no  quarter.  The 
very  day  before  the  doctor's  expected  arrival  he  had 
covered  their  shooting  grounds  quite  thoroughly,  and 


SETTERS  OF  SNARES  353 

after  breaking  numerous  snares,  set  with  the  utmost 
boldness  on  his  own  immediate  land,  he  took  his  gun 
and  ambushed  himself  at  dusk,  teUing  ]os6  and  two 
constables,  whom  he  had  summoned  from  the  village, 
to  be  in  readiness  to  come  to  him  whenever  the  signal 
gun  was  fired,  indicating  the  different  routes  that  they 
were  to  take  to  make  a  capture  the  most  likely. 

Sunset  came,  and  another  hour  passed,  when  a  single 
report  called  the  watchers;  but  as  they  circled  in  the 
direction  of  the  sound,  they  did  not  meet  the  flash  of 
Stead's  dark  lantern  as  agreed,  and  heard  no  crash 
of  bushes  as  of  men  in  sudden  flight, — nothing  but 
darkness  and  deep  silence. 

Jos6,  the  half-breed,  bloodhound  by  nature,  with  even 
more  of  the  animal  instinct  than  human  inteUigence, 
the  outcome  of  the  trailing  instinct  coupled  with  much 
adventure,  at  once  scented  calamity.  Was  the  gun 
the  master's  or  was  it  another's?  To  him  it  had  a 
heavy,  muffled  sound,  and  besides,  it  was  not  the  dis- 
charge of  both  barrels,  as  agreed  upon. 

Returning  quickly  to  the  lodge,  he  seized  the  lan- 
tern and  a  flask  of  brandy,  and  locating  the  foot-path 
his  master  had  purposed  to  take,  stole  carefully  along 
it,  the  others  following  in  his  wake. 

Suddenly  he  paused  and  lowered  the  lantern ;  before 
him,  stretched  between  two  trees,  was  what  is  called 
a  foot-snare,  a  thin,  stiff  cord,  well-nigh  invisible,  which 

2A 


354  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

was  fastened  across  the  path  between  the  trees  at  such 
a  height  as  to  the  most  surely  throw  the  passer.  Jos6 
cut  this  with  a  muttered  curse  and  hurried  on.  Twenty 
yards  farther  he  found  another ;  still  following  the  path, 
his  nostrils  began  to  quiver  and  his  eyes  to  dilate,  as  if 
he  felt  a  presence  he  could  not  see.  A  low  groan 
made  him  bound  forward,  and  he  almost  fell  upon 
the  form  of  his  master,  doubled  upon  the  ground,  head 
upon  breast,  where,  in  coming  up  the  path,  the  third 
snare  had  thrown  him. 

Raising  him  in  haste,  one  of  the  men  stepped  back- 
ward on  his  gun,  and  lo !  the  tale  was  told.  The  lurch 
of  the  sudden  fall  had  reversed  the  weapon  and  pitched 
it  against  a  tree  bole,  which,  striking  the  cocked  hammer, 
had  discharged  the  gun,  shooting  its  owner  in  the 
chest. 

Laying  him  on  the  moss,  Jos^  attempted  to  stanch 
the  bleeding,  which  came  also  from  the  lips.  '*It  is 
the  lungs,"  he  muttered,  and  making  the  sign  of  the 
cross  above  his  master,  he  poured  some  brandy  down 
his  throat,  giving  a  grunt  of  satisfaction  when  it  was 
swallowed.  Awkward  in  emergency,  yet  the  constables 
made  stalwart  bearers,  and  between  them,  guided  by 
Jos6,  they  carried  Stead  —  now  truly  Silent  —  to  the 
lodge,  pausing  now  and  then  to  reassure  themselves, 
by  his  laboured  breathing,  that  he  was  alive. 

Once  there,  Jos^  used  all  the  skill  of  the  half-savage 


SETTERS  OF  SNARES  355 

to  make  his  master  comfortable,  one  of  the  men  bear- 
ing him  company,  while  the  other,  leaving  the  rig  in 
which  they  had  come  to  Windy  Hill,  took  Stead's  horse 
Manfred  and  rode  against  time  for  the  Gilead  doctor, 
who,  also  being  a  hunter  and  a  firm  friend  of  both 
men,  telegraphed  to  Dr.  Russell  before  starting  on 
his  drive. 


The  next  morning,  when  news  of  the  accident  reached 
the  homestead,  Brooke  was  already  on  her  way  by 
train  to  Gordon  to  buy  the  weekly  supplies  according 
to  her  habit,  and  Mrs.  Lawton,  driven  by  Adam,  wild 
with  grief  at  the  calamity  to  this  friend,  started  for 
Stead's  home. 

Arriving  at  Windy  Hill  by  ten  o'clock,  they  found 
Dr.  Russell  there,  so  that,  with  Dr.  Love  and  Jos€, 
who  would  not  leave  his  master's  side,  as  nurse,  and  a 
coloured  woman  of  the  neighbourhood  in  the  kitchen, 
material  help  was  not  needed;  while  as  for  personal 
sympathy,  though  Stead  was  quiet  and  perfectly  con- 
scious. Dr.  Russell,  who  came  into  the  book-strewn  den 
to  greet  them,  told  them  gently  but  firmly  that  the 
strain  on  the  emotions  would  be  most  dangerous  for 
Stead,  as  the  wound  from  the  scattered  shot  must  prove 
fatal,  rally  as  he  might,  and  that  he  wished  to  arrange 
some  business  affairs  as  soon  as  might  be.    If  later 


356  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

in  the  day  he  had  the  strength  and  the  desire  to  see  his 
friends,  they  would  send  down  a  messenger. 

So  mother  and  son  drove  home  in  silence  to  break 
the  news  to  Brooke  on  her  return,  and  Mrs.  Lawton 
cautioned  Adam  that  it  must  be  done  most  gradually, 
for  even  Brooke's  mother  did  not  know  how  far  beyond 
the  outward  friendship  her  feelings  might  be  involved, 
or  even  but  what  some  deeper  understanding  was  either 
foreshadowed  or  might  actually  bind  them. 

Dr.  Russell  had  been  alone  with  Stead  for  half  an 
hour,  Jos^  keeping  jealous  guard  outside  the  door, 
where,  Ipng  upon  the  floor,  he  dozed  lightly,  worn 
out  with  the  night's  reflected  suffering. 

Gradually  the  heart  history  of  the  last  six  months 
was  revealed  to  the  good  physician,  who,  half  sitting, 
half  kneeHng,  by  the  narrow  bed,  hands  clasped  before 
him,  eyes  half  closed  as  if  to  shut  away  outside  things, 
might  easily  have  passed  for  a  purely  spiritual  con- 
fessor. Yet  in  the  fact  of  closing  his  eyes  lay  his  only 
power  to  keep  back  tears.  Twice  he  essayed  to  speak 
and  stopped,  and  then  said  gently,  "A  year  ago  you 
said  that  you  would  willingly  give  the  rest  of  hfe  if 
you  could  only  feel  and  care  once  more.  At  least 
that  wish  has  been  granted." 

"Yes,  and  I  rejoice  in  it,  even  now,"  Stead  answered 
slowly    and   painfully.     "What   now   lies   before   me 


SETTERS  OF  SNARES  357 

is  to  take  the  means  and  give,  as  far  as  it  will  do  so, 
all  that  I  have  to  secure  the  rest  and  comfort  of  the 
woman  who  gave  me  the  power  to  care,  but  could  not 
grant  me  more.  There  is  paper  in  the  desk,  good 
friend,  so  now  sit  and  write  as  I  dictate.  Black 
Hannah  and  the  doctor  outside  shall  be  the  witnesses." 

Then  came  to  Dr.  Russell  the  hardest  task  of  all, 
to  argue  with  one  dying,  but  he  did  not  flinch.  "Stop 
for  a  moment,  Robert,  and  think,  led  by  your  new  power 
of  caring.  If  Brooke  could  not  take  your  love,  do 
you  think  that  she  would  take  your  money?  Would 
not  the  idea  hurt  that  same  brave  tenderness  that 
kindled  you  to  life?    Think  of  some  other  way." 

"She  said  that  there  was  *some  one  else,'  but  that 
*he  did  not  know.'  Some  day  his  eyes  will  open,  for 
God  will  not  allow  a  steadfast  heart  like  Brooke's  to 
be   shut   out   of  life." 

A  struggle  seemed  to  pass  over  Stead's  face  that 
left  a  blueness  about  the  lips  and  the  eyes,  that  quivered 
and  closed.  Dr.  Russell  gave  him  a  stimulant  and 
waited  in  silence. 

Presently  the  eyes  opened  and  he  spoke  deliberately, 
as  one  reciting  a  hard  lesson.  "Then  let  me  leave 
all  in  trust  to  you  for  the  man  Brooke  Lawton  marries, 
not  to  be  known  or  given  until  their  wedding  day, 
when  you  must  tell  him  all,  and  if  he  is  struggling 
with  life,  —  as  I  have  a  feehng  that  he  is,  for  nothing 


358  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

else  could  keep  him  from  such  a  woman,  —  for  her 
sake  he  will  take  the  gift  as  from  man  to  man." 

"And  if  the  day  does  not  come,  or  he  refuses?" 
asked  Dr.  Russell,  joy  at  the  man's  final  unselfish- 
ness beaming  from  his  face. 

"After  ten  years,  then  let  it  become  a  part  of  the 
endowment  of  your  hospital,  in  memory  of  the  two 
Helens,  my  daughter  and  her  mother." 

Thus  the  will  was  made  with  due  regard  to  formality, 
making  the  doctor  holder  of  a  trust,  the  details  of 
which  were  contained  in  sealed  instructions  to  keep 
privacy;  a  certain  sum  being  set  aside  to  furnish  the 
faithful  Jos6  with  an  annuity;  Stead's  lodge,  guns, 
fishing  rods,  books,  and  furniture  to  Dr.  Russell  for 
his  convenience  as  a  shooting-box;  his  saddle-horse  to 
Adam;  and  his  pictures  and  his  two  dogs  to  Brooke 
herself,  for  these  last  were  really  the  possessions  he 
most  prized.  Then  Dr.  Love  and  Hannah  Morley 
signed  as  witnesses,  they  having,  as  is  needful,  no 
part  in  the  will. 

For  a  short  time  Robert  Stead  seemed  better,  as  if 
a  load  was  lifted  from  his  brain,  but  Dr.  Russell  was 
not  deceived  by  it,  while  his  heightening  colour  spoke 
of  increasing  fever. 

About  two  o'clock  Stead  asked  the  time,  and  that  he 
might  be  lifted  up  to  see  the  river,  that,  far  below  in 


SETTERS  OF  SNARES  359 

the  distance,  flashed  by  between  the  trees.  But  his 
sight  no  longer  carried.  Presently  he  said,  "Do  you 
think  that  Brooke  would  come  here  for  one  single 
moment  ?  —  would  it  be  too  hard  for  her  to 
bear?" 

"No;  I  have  sent  the  horses  for  her,  and  she  should 
be  here  at  once.  Yes,  I  see  them  now  coming  up  the 
lower  hill." 

Brooke  entered  alone,  as  Dr.  Russell  had  asked, 
and  led  by  him  went  to  the  bedside,  gently  taking  the 
single  hand  that  lay  upon  the  counterpane,  the  other 
arm  being  bandaged  at  the  shoulder.  She  knew 
by  Dr.  Russell's  face  that  there  was  perfect  mutual 
knowledge,  and  that  she  might  be  herself  without 
fear  of  misunderstanding. 

SUpping  down  to  her  knees,  to  reHeve  the  tension 
of  stooping,  neither  spoke,  for  what  is  there  to  say 
when  each  knows  the  other's  grief  and  helplessness? 
Stead  fastened  his  eyes  upon  her  face  with  fading 
vision  that  still  saw  through  and  beyond. 

"I  cannot  see  the  River  Kingdom,  it  has  faded  from 
me,  but  you  have  come  to  me  from  it,"  he  said  at  last. 
Then  looking  toward  Dr.  Russell,  he  added,  "Open 
the  window,  please,  that  I  may  hear  the  rushing  of  the 
water." 

"  You  could  not  hear  it,  there  has  been  no  rain  this 
fall  and  the  river  is  still;  it  is  only  in  the  spring  flood 


360  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

that  the  waters  rush  noisily,"  answered  Dr.  Russell, 
watching  the  man  apprehensively. 

Again  a  space  of  silence,  and  Stead  murmured, 
"What  was  that  about  still  waters ?  —  a  hymn  or  prayer 
or  something  of  the  sort.  I  used  to  know  it  when  I 
was  a  little  chap  —  my  mother  taught  it  me !" 

Dr.  Russell  glanced  at  Brooke.  Did  she  under- 
stand, and  could  she  bear  the  strain  and  answer? 
Yes,  —  leaning  forward,  she  repeated  softly,  close  to 
his  ear:  "The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd;  I  shall  not 
want.  He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures: 
he  leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters.  He  restoreth 
my  soul :  he  leadeth  me  — " 

Here  the  grasp  of  Stead's  hand  tightened,  so  that  she 
paused  abruptly,  and  turning  toward  her,  he  cried  — 
"  Child,  child !  that  is  what  you  have  done  —  you 
have  restored  my  soul  to  me!"  and  answering  the 
unconscious  appeal  in  the  pleading  eyes,  Brooke,  with- 
out hesitation,  kissed  him  on  the  lips.  Then,  obeying 
a  sign  from  Dr.  Russell,  she  arose  and  passed  quickly 
from  the  room. 

The  next  day  Robert  Stead  died,  and  to  Brooke  it 
seemed  as  if  a  hush  must  fall  over  all  the  River  King- 
dom, —  the  hawks  stop  sailing  to  and  fro,  the  keen 
October  wind  rest  from  blowing,  and  the  meadow- 
larks  in  the  low  fields  cease  their  song.  Yet  it  was 
not  so,  for  this  is  not  the  law  of  life,  which  must  forever 
be  triumphant  over  the  other  law. 


SETTERS  OF  SNARES  361 

After  a  time  people  who  had  missed  and  wondered 
about  Stead  and  Brooke  concluded  that  they  had 
been  mistaken;  the  little  gifts  of  the  will  were  the 
natural  ones  to  friends  and  neighbours,  and  the  trust 
placed  in  Dr.  Russell's  hands  was  natural,  and  doubt- 
less for  charity,  and  there  was  no  one  in  the  Hill  Country 
who  would  deny  his  fitness  to  hold  it. 


CHAPTER  XX 

FIRE  OF  LEAVES 

Killing  frost  had  come  and  given  the  blackening 
touch  to  garden  and  wild  hedge-row.  Even  the  hardy 
chrysanthemums  bowed  their  hoary  heads,  and  a  snow- 
like rime  covered  the  river  meadows  every  morning. 
The  flame  was  already  burning  low  in  the  leaf  torches 
of  the  swamp  maples,  while  the  oaks  changed  to  wine 
and  russet  slowly,  with  majestic  dignity  and  pride  of 
hardihood. 

The  modest  crops  the  farm  had  yielded  were  divided, 
and  Brooke's  portion  of  hay,  rye,  com  on  the  cob,  po- 
tatoes, and  apples  duly  stored  away  under  Enoch  Fen- 
ton's  argus  eyes;  while  even  this  astute  Yankee  found 
nothing  to  quibble  at,  so  generous  had  been  Maarten's 
halving. 

In  fact,  when  the  strange  "  farmer-on-shares,"  after 
the  sharing  time,  prepared  to  plough  up  the  com  stubble 
for  burning  and  harrow  the  cleared  field,  Fenton 
laughed  half  derisively,  and  said,  "  It's  plain  to  me  he'll 
never  make  a  farmer,  —  that  harrowing  job  belongs  to 
next  year's  man." 

363 


FIRE  OF  LEAVES  363 

Still  Maarten  kept  on  at  work,  this  last  week  of  his 
stay,  for  that  mysterious  source  "they  say"  had  in- 
formed Adam  that  the  man  was  homesick  and  would 
return  to  the  old  country,  also  that  Bisbee  knew  it  to  be 
true  and  he  had  bought  Maarten's  portion  of  the  crops. 

So  when,  one  afternoon  of  late  October,  Brooke,  in  a 
restless  mood,  looking  down  the  fields  toward  Moosa- 
tuk,  saw  the  opal  smoke  of  burning  brush,  stubble,  and 
leaves  following  the  fence  hne  just  above  the  brook, 
while  a  dark  figure  moved  in  and  out,  stirring  and  feeding 
the  flames  with  a  trident  fork,  her  feet  followed  her 
inchnation  to  go  and  thank  the  man  who  had  worked 
for  and  halved  so  well  with  her,  and  wish  him  God- 
speed. 

Later,  she  herself  would  flit  for  a  time,  and  though 
she  desired  to  go,  yet  she  dreaded  it.  The  pleasure 
season  itself  was  waning,  although  many  of  the  hill 
people,  especially  at  Gordon,  lingered  until  Thanks- 
giving. After  this,  winter  would  quickly  close  in,  they 
told  her,  and  as  Rosius  would  be  in  Washington  exe- 
cuting some  commissions,  Brooke,  urged  by  the  entire 
household,  had  agreed  to  spend  the  first  two  winter 
months  there  with  Mrs.  Parks,  to  study  animal  anatomy 
under  him. 

As  Brooke  strolled  slowly  down  the  lane.  Tatters,  as 
usual,  followed  her.  At  first,  when  Adam  Lawton  began 
to  walk  daily  about  the   garden,  Tatters'  indecision 


364  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

whom  to  follow  had  been  most  amusing;  but  he  had 
evidently  worked  it  out  to  his  entire  satisfaction  by  dog 
philosophy,  and  convinced  himself  that  the  one  who 
went  farthest  afield  was  most  in  need  of  company,  so 
followed  her  as  at  first,  mounting  guard  again  by  the 
master's  chair  the  moment  of  her  return ;  and  though  he 
was  kind  and  obedient  to  Miss  Keith,  after  her  return, 
there  was  a  decided  tinge  of  condescension  in  it. 

Brooke  reached  the  Hne  of  smoke  and  found  that  the 
fire  was  north  of  the  tumble-down  wall,  while  Maarten 
was  bringing  rakesful  of  dry  chestnut  leaves  from  under 
the  trees,  beneath  which  they  had  drifted  half  across  the 
hay-fields.  These  leaves  he  was  using  as  kindhng  for 
the  obstinate  stubble,  piled  in  a  long  Une. 

As  the  breeze  veered  and  brought  the  pungent  smoke 
toward  her,  Brooke  walked  back  a  few  paces,  dragging 
her  feet  luxuriously  through  the  leaves,  and  waited  for 
Maarten  to  come  down  the  Hne  once  more,  that  she 
might  speak.  Then,  as  the  time  lengthened  and  he  did 
not  return,  the  idea  forced  itself  upon  her  that  perhaps 
he  was  keeping  on  the  outskirts  of  the  fire  to  avoid  her 
or  her  thanks,  either  one  or  both,  and  feeUng  humiliated, 
she  turned  nonchalantly  to  cross  the  hay-fields  toward 
the  wood-lot,  a  customary  walk  of  hers. 

As  she  did  so  she  scented  something  burning  that  was 
not  the  brush  fire.  Glancing  about,  she  saw  that  a  thin 
tongue  of  flame  had  crawled  out  from  the  brush  heap, 


FIRE  OF  LEAVES  365 

and  was  licking  up  the  dry  leaves  all  about,  and  that 
the  flaring  line  was  scorching  her  wool  and  cotton 
outing  gown  and  slowly  creeping  upward  toward  her 
hand.  For  a  second  she  tried  to  beat  it  out ;  then,  seeing 
the  leaf  fire  spreading  on  every  side  and  no  way  of  escape 
save  through  it,  she  tried  to  call,  but  fear  muffled  her 
voice. 

Faint  as  the  cry  was,  it  was  heard  by  Tatters,  who 
was  hunting  squirrels  in  the  fence.  Bounding  toward 
her,  he  too  felt  the  fire;  circHng  it,  he  flew  straight 
across  the  brush  toward  Maarten,  barking  in  a  wholly 
new  and  piercing  key  of  pain  and  warning. 

Running  down  the  line,  Maarten  took  in  the  situation 
at  a  glance,  tried  to  beat  the  flame  out  with  his  hands, 
and  failed.  Tearing  off  his  loose  coat,  he  wrapped 
Brooke  in  it,  and  Ufting  her  bodily,  dashed  over  the 
brush  and  wall,  setting  her  down  at  the  stream's  edge, 
where  a  few  hatsful  of  water  put  out  the  fire  without 
even  blistering  her  finger-tips. 

As  he  seized  Brooke,  crushing  her  to  him  in  his  speed, 
a  fierce  wave  of  joy  that  banished  all  fear  enveloped 
the  girl  from  head  to  foot,  and  when  he  put  her  down 
and  she  knew  that  the  flames  were  extinguished,  she 
was  still  breathing  hard,  and  could  find  neither  voice 
nor  words  to  thank  him. 

Glancing  at  Maarten,  she  saw  that  he  was  bathing  his 
scorched,  sooty  face  and  wrapping  a  wet  handkerchief 


366  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

about  his  hands,  also  that  the  brush  fire  had  caught  his 
beard  and  singed  it  all  away. 

At  her  exclamation  of  regret  and  pity,  he  turned,  then 
stood  upright  before  her  with  folded  arms,  his  eyes 
fixed  directly  on  hers.  In  the  short  interval  the  outline 
of  his  face  had  changed,  solidified,  and  the  firmness  of 
mouth  and  chin  was  revealed. 

Brooke's  heart  stood  still,  and  then  surged,  in  wild, 
clamorous  beating.  "Lorenz!"  she  cried.  "Lorenz! 
Oh,  why  have  I  not  always  known  you?  This  explains 
everything !  Why  did  you  come  here  Uke  this  ?  Why 
did  you  change  your  name  and  turn  into  a  labourer?" 

Her  voice  had  an  unconscious  reproach  in  it,  —  or  at 
least  the  man  so  heard  it,  —  and  a  light  that  had  gleamed 
through  all  the  smut  and  scorch  died  from  his  eyes; 
while  half  kneehng,  half  crouching,  on  the  bank  among 
the  bleached  ferns  and  feathering  seed-stalks,  her  hair 
fallen  to  her  shoulders,  bright  colour  succeeding  the 
pallor  of  fear,  looking  again  the  gypsy  ruler  of  the 
River  Kingdom,  Brooke  waited  for  the  explanation  of 
the  man  who  stood  before  her.  Slowly  it  came,  and  the 
voice,  from  which  the  feigned  accent  was  dropped, 
trembled  at  first,  but  grew  stronger  with  fervour  every 
moment. 

"Why  did  I  come?  To  see  you !  Why  did  I  come 
as  a  farm  labourer  ?  That  is  to  what  I  was  bom,  back 
in  the  Httle  tuUp  farm  that  I  have  often  told  you  of,  near 


FIRE  OF  LEAVES  367 

Haarlem.  Also  it  was  the  only  way  that  I  might  both 
be  near  and  serve  you.  My  name  is  my  own,  as  was 
that  by  which  you  first  knew  me  —  Henri  Lorenz 
Maarten  —  Lorenz  being  my  mother's  maiden  name, 
and  by  it  I  was  as  often  called  in  the  days  I  spent  with 
my  uncle,  who  brought  me  up,  as  Maarten,  the  name 
of  my  father,  who  died  so  long  ago.  In  Paris  my 
friends  reversed  the  titles,  student  fashion,  to  please 
themselves,  and  I  for  the  time  became  Maarten  or 
Marte  Lorenz." 

Why  did  he  stand  there,  stem  and  aloof?  Could  he 
not  read  her  thoughts,  Brooke  wondered.  Did  he  not 
fathom  the  deep  undercurrent  upon  which  her  questions 
had  merely  floated  like  bits  of  driftage? 

No ;  what  Maarten  saw  before  him,  as  he  looked,  was 
that  scene  in  the  July  woods  —  a  young  woman  with 
eyes  cast  down,  the  suitor  with  eyes  aflame  pressing 
kisses  upon  her  hands.  That  the  man  was  dead  did 
not  obhterate  the  vision.  Maarten  had  resolved  to 
make  his  own  confession,  complete  and  unmistakable, 
and  then  to  go  his  way. 

Not  knowing  this,  Brooke  let  her  thoughts  fly  to  him 
in  eager  questions. 

"The  picture  1  Tell  me  of  'Eucharistia*  and  the 
meaning  of  the  hght  in  it,  and  how  you  found  me  here 
when  the  papers  said  that  you  had  gone  to  work  and 
study  in  Brittany. " 


368  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

"Did  they  say  that?  I  did  not  know  it,  for  I  came 
direct  from  home,  where  I  had  seen  my  mother.  As  to 
the  picture,  it  is  a  long  story.  Shall  I  tell  it  to  you  now 
or  write  it  down  and  leave  it  when  I  go  ?  You.  will  be 
chilled,  perhaps,  if  you  wait  longer." 

"Then  you  are  going?" 

"Yes,  next  week,  my  work  now  being  done,"  here  he 
glanced  across  the  fields;  "and  having  seen  you,  I  must 
go  back  to  my  brush  again,  hoarding  the  studies  I  have 
made.  Oh,  yes,  I  have  worked  —  between  times  — 
painting  you  always;   such  work  is  Ufe  to  me." 

"No,  do  not  write,  tell  me  now,"  said  Brooke,  won- 
dering if  the  chill  that  seized  upon  her  spirit  had  its 
source  from  without  or  from  within. 

"Then  I  will  tell  you  if  you  will  listen  to  the  end." 
Brooke  nodded  assent. 

Maarten  drew  nearer,  and  half  sitting,  half  leaning 
against  the  bank,  told  his  story. 

"When  I  met  you  in  the  Paris  studios,  it  was  five 
years  after  I  had  turned  my  back  on  England  and  the 
commercial  life  my  father's  brother,  a  London  Hol- 
lander, had  planned  for  me.  I  belonged  in  an  art 
country,  and  its  traditions  held  me  in  its  grip,  not  to  be 
broken.  I  had  fought  my  way  along  and  worked 
steadily,  first  at  home,  earning  some  praise,  and  yet 
always  when  I  felt  success  coming  toward  me,  it 
passed  me  by.    At  first  I  thought  you  one  of  the  great 


FIRE  OF  LEAVES  369 

flock  of  those  young  women  who  dabble  at  art,  as  an 
excuse  for  greater  liberty,  —  soon  I  learned  better. 
You  were  kind  and  frank;  you  never  seemed  to  wait 
for  flattery,  but  rather  shrank  from  it.  Presently  I  came 
to  think,  '  Here  is  a  woman  to  whom  one  may  not  only 
tell  the  truth,  but  who  craves  it.'  So  I  spoke  my  mind 
freely,  as  you  remember  on  that  day  at  Carlo  Rossi's, 
when,  with  a  dozen  others,  you  were  trying  to  sketch  a 
woman  of  the  street,  and  catching  poise  and  colouring 
admirably,  the  face  was  still  a  blank,  because  you  could 
not  fathom  the  meaning  of  her  expression." 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  Brooke  whispered,  half  intro- 
spectively,  as  with  hands  clasped  over  her  knee  she 
looked  down  toward  the  river. 

"  I  craved  your  friendship,  and  you  gave  it.  Then  the 
time  came  when  it  was  too  little  for  me;  and  I — what 
had  I  to  offer?  So  I  kept  in  the  background ;  my  work 
grew  stale,  and  for  the  first  time  I  half  regretted  the  five 
years'  struggle,  and  might  have  given  up  save  that,  had 
I  done  so,  my  mother's  pride  and  pinching,  that  I  might 
become  a  painter,  would  have  been  wasted. 

"  One  day  I  went  with  some  others  from  the  Quarter 
to  Fontainebleau  to  sketch  out  of  doors.  Three  of  us 
had  resolved  to  enter  a  competition.  For  a  week  I  had 
scarcely  slept,  for  somewhere  in  my  brain  dwelt  a  picture, 
that  was  growing,  yet  would  not  focus.  All  the  morn- 
ing I  had  wandered  about,  and  in  the  early  afternoon, 


370  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

leaving  the  others,  I  threw  myself  down  under  the 
oaks,  quite  in  despair  and  wholly  miserable. 

"Presently  I  heard  a  footfall  on  the  grass.  Before 
I  could  turn,  a  cluster  of  cool,  golden  grapes  dropped 
in  my  feverish  hand,  and  looking  up  and  backward,  I 
saw  your  face,  and  in  the  smile  it  wore  a  ray  of  Ught,  of 
inspiration,  pierced  my  soul.  Before  I  had  awakened 
from  the  vision,  you  passed  on  and  joined  your  scolding 
chaperon. 

"As  for  me,  as  I  lingered  there,  those  grapes  became 
as  drops  of  sacramental  wine.  I  seized  my  brushes  and 
hastily  caught  and  kept  the  vision  as  I  saw  it  —  for  to 
me  it  was  the  divine  awakening. 

"For  weeks  I  dreamed  and  painted  as  I  never  had 
done  before.  My  comrades  laughed  and  said,  'Is  it 
love  or  genius?'  and  old  Rossi  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  asked,  'What  is  the  difference?' 

"The  picture  finished,  I  sent  it  to  the  competition, 
and  there  your  rich  Senator  both  saw  and  coveted  it. 
I  would  not  sell  it,  —  no,  never !  Ah,  then  I  never 
thought  to ;  but  later  my  mother  sickened,  and  the  price 
would  more  than  buy  her  a  good  annuity.  I  thought 
again,  and  something  said,  ^  She  would  have  liked  to 
help  your  mother,  who  is  old  and  still  plods  on  the  tulip 
farm  behind  the  poplars,  which  she  will  not  leave ; '  and 
I  yielded,  and  I  then  resolved  to  follow  you,  —  across 
the  earth  if  must  be,  —  for  lacking  you,  my  inspira- 
tion fled. 


FIRE  OF  LEAVES  371 

"Through  Carolus  Ashton,  the  amateur,  well  known 
in  the  Paris  studios,  I  learned  your  whereabouts, 
and  at  the  same  time  I  chanced  upon  words  of  your 
swift  sorrow  in  a  paper  at  a  fellow-artist's  home. 

"'She  has  trouble,'  I  thought.  'Surely  in  some  way 
I  can  aid  her,'  and  I  sent  the  picture  of  yourself  as 
not  too  bold  a  reminder.  Your  little  copy  of  my  pic- 
ture coming  in  return,  I  said,  '  Now  I  may  go ;  she  did 
not  resent  my  painting  us  together,'  and  hope  gave  me 
wings." 

"Ashton  knew  that  you  were  here  from  the  begin- 
ning, then,  and  forwarded  your  portrait  in  the  summer, 
and  made  no  sign  !    How  cruel !" 

"Yes,  he  knew,  and  also  one  named  Brownell;  but 
do  not  condemn  them,  for  there  is  a  silence  in  such 
matters  that  is  as  honour  among  men,  though  almost 
strangers;  it  is  as  strong  as  woman's  love.  Besides, 
what  good  would  it  have  done?" 

"  But  the  name  you  gave  the  picture  ?  'Eucharistia,' " 
said  Brooke,  leaning  forward. 

Maarten  drew  closer,  and  almost  dropping  on  his 
knees,  looked  in  her  eyes  and  took  her  hands  in  his, 
that  were  hardened  by  toil  and  blistered  by  fire  of 
leaves,  both  for  her  sake,  and  said,  "The  word  has  two 
meanings,  —  '  a  sacrament,'  and  '  thanksgiving ' ;  you 
had  become  the  first  to  me,  for  this  I  gave  the  title 
'Eucharistia.'  It  has  become  my  name  for  you,  and — 
I  still  give  thanks." 


372  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOX 

Then,  dropping  her  hands  as  that  other  picture  in  its 
setting  of  July  woods  again  crossed  his  inner  vision,  he 
stood,  erect  and  proud,  as  one  waiting  inevitable  sen- 
tence, yet  glad  in  the  consciousness  that  he  had  told 
the  truth. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  and  Brooke's  head 
dropped  lower,  until  it  rested  on  her  hands.  At  last 
Maarten  regained  himself:  "And  now  that  all  is  told, 
what  is  there  more  for  me  to  do  here  ?  What  more  for 
me  to  say?" 

Slowly  Brooke  struggled  to  her  feet,  for  in  truth  her 
clothes  were  damp  and  heavy,  though  she  had  not 
before  felt  it.  Standing  there,  she  looked  up  and  smiled, 
and  once  again  that  shaft  of  light  went  forth  from  her  to 
him,  as  she  said  in  yearning  accents:  "What  more  to 
say,  Henri  ?  All  that  a  man  may  say  to  the  woman  who 
loves  him." 

"  Eucharistia ! "  he  cried,  stiU  holding  back  in  blind 
amazement.  "It  is  not  parting,  then,  beloved,  but 
waiting  for  you  and  work  for  me!" 

"No;  work  for  you  and  work  for  me,  for  what  else 
means  the  awakening?"  And  placing  her  hand  in  his, 
she  walked  by  his  side  along  the  border  of  the  stream, 
while  the  wind  carried  the  news  throughout  the  River 
Kingdom,  and  Tatters,  pushing  himself  between  them, 
wagged  his  tail  as  he  licked  the  blistered  fingers. 


ftFSU 


UC  SCXmCRN  REGIONAL  UBHARY  FAOUTY 


A    000  766  782    7 


